They met in the middle. On the even plains as day turned to night and the hills rose and fell. The stars wheeled overhead and the wind blew the sand into flurries. Their feet crunched on the dust. Eyes never meeting, not even to glance. The moon shone, not in full glory but a soft crescent, sending down its dappled light with the pass of the clouds.
Her attire was simple, a neat blouse and men’s trousers. Thick brown boots laced around her feet. A wide brimmed hat plunged most of her face into darkness. The only betrayal to her identity was the few rebel stands of hair that slid down around her ears and neck. Nightwanderer’s eyes found the hairs but to him they meant little. He knew far too well the secrets others had to hide.
The noiselessness of the desert night stretched on a thousand miles from where they placed their feet. The air hung with a steady warmth, carrying naught but the gentle whispers of the dust. Words needn’t be uttered for the understanding was ripe and not to be spoilt. They walked silently, grateful for simply the company of another lost.
Neither understood whether the route they took that night was the same, or altered. Their feet marched on with a persistent rhythm, carrying them as always. It seemed, that night, their feet believed they knew best and strode them side-by-side until the stars bowed their heads and retired. As the sky began to pale, and the moon blinked closed its eye, the two simply turned and left. Not a word was uttered.
They left each other in the middle. On the even plains as night turned to day and the hills rose and fell. Their feet crunched on the dust. The sun awoke, in full glory, sending down its harsh orange light with the withdrawal of the clouds.
