A group of gruff looking males sat around a dying campfire, drinking a dark, putrid-smelling substance. They spoke in loud voices that echoed around the canyon.
"So what do we do tomorrow then chaps?" Asked one of the men as he clapped his hands.
"Drink more!" Yelled another, and a rumble of laughter filled the canyon. The first man clipped him on the back of the head and stood up.
"I'm thinking, we'd best be getting these dammed 'orses," a groan followed from the other men. "Hey hey hey, are we forgetting our manners now people?"
From the other side of the campfire a softer, younger voice could be heard.
"Wh-who made you in charge?" The voice stammered.
A smirk arrived on the man's face as he walked slowly around the blazing flames with his hands behind his back. When he arrived at the boy who had questioned him, he stopped and stared, a cold, cruel stare. The boy bowed his head and mumbled something apologetically.
"Grow a backbone kid," he said, thrusting a bottle into his chest.
They continued to laugh and joke about. But there was something strange - they spoke with... an English accent? It seemed so strange and alien to the Arabian desert, and it begged the question, why would they, be here?
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Heart and Soul
FanfictionIn the blazing deserts of Arabia, the warring herds must come together to fight the evil beasts that terrorise them. For fans of spirit stallion of the cimmaron.
