Heaviness settled upon Oden's broad shoulders. He shifted his silken cloak closer around him, hiding his cravat and doublet underneath the yellow material. The day has gone past, and yet, no light flickered or changed - remaining ever constant in the crimson sunset glow. He supposed there is beauty to be found in Hell itself. Born and raised surface dweller, he had grown very accustomed to the changing seasons of the day, but here one must mentally count almost constantly to keep track of the weeks and months if he is to be punctual. And Oden was a man of punctuality. Discipline runs in your veins! The late King Thomas would say to him regularly. Oden glanced at his wrist again. Angry knife welts swelled and brimmed with blood. Letting go of the reins for but a moment, he marked another tally on his wrist.

Another hour passed, I pray Jaatun is safe.

Oden took a peek behind him. The magical wagon continued to pull itself, following the rod that dangled by his hip, alongside the iron keys. Watching the water maiden inside, he hoped she would find it in her heart to forgive them all. His Hellish Presence Aariman promised them a large sum of wealth for her safe delivery. Enough to buy him passage back to the surface world.

'Captain, how much further?' Gurvah, a squarish boy, asked.

Oden refocused his attention back to his wrist, continuing his meticulous counting. 'No more than a couple of miles.' The boy nodded, droplets of perspiration gathering and dripping down his youthful round face.

'How does she remain so clean,' Hurrmid muttered, his glaring gaze fixated on the iron barred wagon. 'Not once have I seen the bitch bothered by the heat!' His loud voice carried far, venom dripping with every syllable.

'Quiet boy!' Oden hissed, stopping his lizardmount dead in its track. He held up his hand in the air, a silent order for the procession to halt. Closing his eyes, he listened to the dunes whistling under the scorching light breeze. The desert seemed to be alive more than usual, and that frightened him. Sand and wind seemed to crackle with life. Flocks of dracovins squeaked and batted their small leathery wings, diving underneath the sand to catch centipedes and beetles that hid deep in the sands. The mounts laboured deeply, falling to the ground with a resounding thud, a blessed moment of respite.

'We should allow them to rest, Captain,' Gurvah said.

Opening his lids, Oden sighed when he saw his own spread out, struggling to breathe. It's protruding belly dug deeply into the sand, attempting to cool the searing hot scales.

'There, there, old girl,' Oden patted his lizardmount's neck. The creature adjusted its neck, opening the large accusatory golden eyes, piercing his soul.

'You may be right, Gurvah.' Turning his attention to the rest of his men, he motioned with a waving hand above his head. 'Make camp, we have half an hour to regroup.'

His men whooped in excitement. Oden dismounted, patting his reptilian steed, who veered its body away from his touch.

Forgive me, old friend.

Sadness burrowed itself inside Oden's chest, throat constricting tightly. He pulled himself away from the beast, opting to focus on helping the men set up the poles for the tarpaulin.

The desolate nature of the dunes brought nothing but despair. The men felt it too, Oden knew. The Dunes of Carnage are aptly named. Many peddlers and merchants knew of the physiological destruction the dunes can bring, and many still fell under its spell. Oden wiped the sweat from his brow, rogue strands of wet grey hair poking from within the shemagh. Once luscious locks of spun brass, now turned to rust and brittle grey.

Shaking his weary head, the captain felt his spine shiver. His fingers slowly reached for his sword, veteran eyes glancing around cautiously.

It's the girl.

Grey locked with lavender. He saw her rather round, small head placed on the knees, her keen gaze peering all over him. Sighing, Oden grabbed a canteen from his saddle, making his way over.

'Would you like a drink, my lady?'

The girl was taken aback. Oden heard chains rattling, and a freckled arm reached through the iron bars, taking his offering, hesitantly. The umber skinned woman uncorked the drink. She brought it towards her nose, sniffing it.

'Its warm,' she stated, her face scrunching up in disgust.

'We have been travelling for over a month and the dunes have yet to be kind,' Oden chastised, shocked at the water nymphs' words.

She cocked her head to the side, analysing him, 'Perhaps you should learn about the people you're kidnapping. Surely you've been given a dossier or something?' she asked, confused.

Oden stood there, his entire body feeling suddenly extremely heavy, guilt and shame weighed on him. The burden of his greed gnawed on him, sinking its claws and taking hold of his heart in its bloody grasp.

'I don't need water. I am water. Honestly, what kind of people this devilord hired.' Contempt dripped from her lips.

'I - I apologise.' Awkwardness and silence descended upon the two. A light breeze passed before Oden spoke again. 'I am called Oden, hailing from the surface world.'

The woman seemed to ponder for a second, 'Nyym. And before you make a jape at my name, yes, I am aware of it.'

Nyym the Nymph. Oden chuckled low.

'What is it like?' Nyym asked, moving closer to the bars, her fingers still tightly holding the canteen.

'Hmm?'

'The surface world.'

'Different, like dark and light. The elements are not segregated into echelons. Water and sand come together to form vast rivers called seas. Trees grow everywhere and mountains shoulder the weight of clouds.' Oden settled down next to the wagon, his sore and tired back leaning against the large spiked wheels. 'And the stars. By the divines! How I missed those shining stars. The sky would change colour depending on where the sun was in the sky.'

Oden became somber in the moment. His body was in hell, but his mind was transported to the little boat by the carving river. 'My daughter and I would watch the sun rise and fall. We would take the boat up the stream, she would sit with her wools and threads, weaving colours.'

From his doublet, he retrieved a handkerchief. Oden traced the red and purple threads, sawn delicately to create the sky. Yellow clouds embroidered with interwoven threads and silver mountains made up of many coloured greys. Dots of blue and white swirls hugged the edges of the handkerchief. There Oden saw a little brown boat and two people sitting, watching the scenery unfold, one with brassy hair and the other with a long black braid.

Alina, my child, forgive me. Tears welled in his grey eyes. He wished he never made the deal. The deal that cost him so much. He felt a hand placed on his shoulder. Nyym and Oden sat there, in silence, while he wept for his sins.

Beneath, the sand moved and from the fiery depth emerged teeth and scales.