CHANNILLO

SANDS OF THE DESERT (4)
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   It is days before we see the first hint of the sea, even though it has been with us in scent for so long. Light, dancing as if off of a million twirling flutes, is our first glimpse. We suffer during this time. The long journey through the sands has been wearing. We no longer heal as quickly or as fully as we did from the ravages of the sun. Sara and I, the youngest of our clan, keep our blisters and raw feet while Andine, far older than I care to consider, simply withers a bit more each day. Turning down the last plea for mercy has us quietly starving. In the distance, we hear screams and mad laughter. Jonah’s doing. He plays the flute and slakes his thirst on those who come. We know he wants us to hear. The Singer promises better with her captured words and sweet, sustaining melody. W...

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