The planet of Zenaria looks peaceful; normal. But there is someone who wants to control it, and ultimately destroy it. Only four others can save the planet. Each of the four Elementals are different, but they must learn to control their powers and w...
I hate sand. It's course, rough, and irritating, and it gets everywhere.
Omar was knocked to the ground once more as yet another mighty gust of wind rushed past him. Sand flew into his eyes. He tried his best not to breathe it in, even through the cloth that he had wrapped around his nose and mouth. Omar tried to stand steady on the ground, but it was hopeless. The sand shifted and moved underneath his feet, and the wind forever threatened to topple him over. He also couldn't tell when the end of the dune was approaching, and needed to be very careful. Normally, his "sixth sense" would tell him where things were, but in this case the wind made it so that he couldn't tell where anything was at all.
Omar tried to stop the wind from barraging him, but it would simply swerve around him then come back from another direction. Omar wasn't powerful enough to stop it. Also, anytime he tried, his feet would slip on the sand as a result of having to stand against the force of the wind to stop it from blowing.
Omar dug his hands into the sand and tried to move forward on his hands and knees. He knew that he would need to make some sort of pit in the sand or find one. All he knew was that he was on the top of a dune and needed to be at the bottom. He scabbled forward, his hands and feet sliding out from underneath him every other step. Suddenly, Omar placed his hand forward, but it didn't land on anything.
His weight off-balance, Omar toppled over the edge of the dune, his feet slipping out and his other hand sliding off the dune as well. He felt for a moment as if he was flying, but then he hit the sand, and he rolled and rolled and rolled down the dune. The cloth that covered his nose and mouth ripped off and he continued to tumble, the sand getting into his nose and mouth whenever he breathed. He coughed, but that only made it worse. But now his shoulder was hurting. He kept rolling on his side. Suddenly, he stopped.
Omar pushed himself up but then fell back down. He didn't have enough strength to rise again, especially with the force of the wind still threatening to push him down. All hope seemed lost.
I'm going to die.
He wondered why he felt such a stolid acceptance of his own death.
Maybe it's because I'm dehydrated.
But that doesn't matter. I'm going to die.
Omar lay down on the sand.
I might just sleep here.
But then he changed his mind.
Too much sand. This isn't comfortable at all.
Omar came back to his senses. He started to dig, trying to make a pit in the sand before his arms gave out. Progress was painstakingly slow. Omar realized that he was never going to finish making a deep enough pit in time before he collapsed in the power of the sand, heat, and wind.
He made a shallow pit instead. It's better than nothing. Omar lay down flat in the shallow gorge, hoping that it would be deep enough to obscure him from the sand and wind. Omar then put an arm in front of his nose and mouth, to reduce the amount of sand which he breathed in. It helped a little. But not much.
Omar's eyes burned. He doubted that he would ever get out of the predicament. But there was nothing he could do except lay there in the shallow gorge in the sand and wait. To die or not to die.
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