Jovan's Gaze

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

I cannot say how long I lay there. I felt the coolness of the water as it made its way down my throat. The feeling spread outward from my throat into every part of my body. My arms seemed to regain their strength, and my legs could function once more. My vision began to come into focus, though only somewhat. I was still desperately hungry, and the hunger burned in my stomach. As much as I was enjoying the feeling of water upon my parched form, I knew that food would have to be next.

Whomever left this strange vat here, the people who had written this strange writing upon its side, they would have food as well. Hopefully.

The water splashed down on my face. I rolled onto my stomach, and the water ran from my forehead into my eyes. I did not mind. The feeling was truly wonderful, as though I were laying in a rejuvenating bath. I pushed myself onto my knees, bumping my head on the underside of the vat as I did. I laughed. I was giddy. Water. Life. I was going to live.

I crawled out from under the vat and stood up, using the vat as support. The vat was metal, and the sides were warm from the sun. How then did the water remain cool? I would have to ask the owners, when I found them. My hand glided upon the surface of the vat. The paint felt slightly blistered, likely from the heat. Still, I could not discern how the salt air had not rusted the vat's skin. I recalled time spent on the western coast. Anything metal rusted very quickly unless cared for. Our captain was sure to remind us to clean our weapons every day, lest the salt have its way with them. I supposed the paint on this vat was different, mixed to fight off the rust.

I looked about me, looking for some other evidence of supplies. There was nothing to the south. Moving around the vat, keeping myself in the shade of the tree, I looked northward.

'Ah," I said aloud, "there we go."

Just a moment's walk away from the vat was a small hut. It was raised on stilts, much like the vat. It was small, and I doubted that more than a handful could fit in it. It was rectangular, elongated. There were stairs leading up from the sand, though no door was evident on the short edge where the stair led. What made the small, white hut oddest were the metal rods sticking out of the top. How many lightening rods did a single hut need? Were the storms on this coast so very fierce? Some were straight, other rods were coiled. Beside the rods, at the end of the hut's ceiling furthest from the stairs was a large dish facing upward. Several strands of black rope reached from a box under the dish, to the roof of the hut. I suppose they used the dish to catch rain water, though from this distance I could not see where it funneled into. The people who lived here would have to climb up to reach the water.

I moved closer to the hut, stripping away my jacket. I let the parched leather fall in the sand, leaving it were it fell. It was soaked in sweat, and now with water, and was parched beyond any real use. Besides, the cool mist of the sea felt good on my chest. I removed my other shoe, and let my feet warm themselves in the soothing sand. I could not even feel the blisters which I was sure covered my feet by now. Once I found food, I would tend to them.

Food came first.

The hut had no windows, and even close up, the stairs seemed to lead to nothing. I wondered if the entrance was around the other side, but then why put stairs here? I could see evidence of footfalls, two or three, where the tide had not washed them away. People in boots had been here recently, and all seemed to surround the stairs.

I climbed the three stairs, and glided my hand along the hut's wall. It was smooth, much like the vat. The paint was the same, with the same feel, as though slightly blistered, though smooth at the same time. As soon as my hand brushed over the hut wall to my left, there was an odd chirping sound. I stepped back a pace, unsure of what I had heard. That was no bird I knew of, and the hut itself seemed to do the chirping.