Batu
Discovery College, Nicole Wun, Fiction: Group 3
T
he deep, thumping hooves of the mustangs leave their trail of footprints in the baking
sand. The warriors, merely nodding off in the scorching heat, grunt ponderously under
the weight of their spears. The Gobi desert, almost smoking under the merciless summer
sun, forms smooth sand dunes in the distance that glow a faint shade of gold.
The horses huff and snort as the party gallops towards the endless stretch of sand and desert,
they reach a sudden drop of a gorge looming closer towards them. Suddenly, a blood-curdling
shriek bounces off the walls of a cliff below. The leading warrior stops abruptly by the sound of
the second cry; he leaps off the mustang and leans gingerly over the side of the cliff. Another wail
echoes through the sandy gorge, he faces down into the gorge bottom at a dizzying height, he
does not flinch, knowing it is for the best.
A shout and a yelp behind him rings in his ears; he spins around to find one of his warriors
fall against him with a heavy thump, pushing him backwards with such force that he is almost
flying. He is knocked off the edge and into nothingness; the panicked yells and cries above him
were muffled by the sound of wind rushing around his ears as he plummets down to the gorge
below. Something knocks the air out of him as blindingly hot pain sears through his entire body.
He wheezes.
He lets out his last shuddering breath.
And gives in to dizzying blackness that awaits him.
Batu groaned as his tribe assembles to give their last respects to his dead father, accidentally
pushed over the edge of the gorge when investigating a cry below by one of his most trusted advisors,
Narulaan. He does not believe that story, only about eighty four new moons old, he believes the
advisor killed him for evil deeds, faking the cry for help and seize the chance to push him over.
Batu avoids his father’s body, blue, lifeless and twisted into awkward angles. He looks away;
blinking the tears from his eyes by the thought of the first time his father brought him together
for hunting.
Narulaan trudges towards Batu, his gaze hollow and his eyes filled with regret and despair.
Batu gives him a withering look before jumping up and haring away as fast and as far as he could
from that man, he hurls himself into his tent and burrows under his camel fur covers. With his
heartbeat slowing, misery and anguish washes over him like a giant wave, plummeting down
upon him. He shivers at the cooling temperatures of the evening, and lets himself pour out all his
grief as the tent steadily darkens into the night.
One hundred and twenty moons ago, one hundred and twenty moons of hunting without his
father, one hundred and twenty moons without hearing his laughter, one hundred and twenty
moons of harsh and possibly sleepless nights. Worst of all, it also meant one hundred and twenty
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