Character Exploration #5

Before entering the city, Cedar scooped the last moon dust from his cloth pouch. It that hung around his neck, suddenly empty, useless. He poured the sand in tidy piles over the patchwork faux-skin laid out on the desert ground. His gnarled fingers pressed the grit into every spot of cotton, murmuring things like, “ram’s horns” at the head, “snake skin” along its collarbone, and “coal dust” over its chest. He knelt over the form for just a few moments, keeping his bare feet planted flat on the ground, listening for anyone nearby. Cedar dressed quickly, pulling the stitched material taut against his own craggily flesh, sealing all but a small square at the back of his neck, which he covered with a tattered shawl.

He stumbled onward with his deep-set eyes fixated on the buildings up ahead, the largest sign of civilization since the burning. Hante’ always warned against going beyond the camp; rescue missions were bad enough, but nightmare-infested cities? Cedar squeezed his newly clawed hands, letting the jagged nails sink into his palms, but they would not draw blood no matter how hard he tried. With an outer shell, so to speak, one did not bleed easy.

And Hante’ wasn’t there. So he kept walking.

The sun centered upon the small green square upon his back even through the fabric, coaxing Cedar to sink his roots deep into the earth and rest a moment, drink. With the last of the moon dust used up, he would not— could not— eat. Unless he found more. Unless he found a human.

Not in the city. They weren’t in the city. Nightmares scooped them up and pinned them down in their facilities. They bled humans dry. Cedar just wanted a handful, a morsel, a drop. And while not a soul resided in the stucco and adobe buildings, he had at least a hint in direction where to go next. He spent enough time alone in the desert searching for his mother, his friends. After the fire, they all scattered. Or burned alive.

Slipping into the city unnoticed meant wearing their skin, their pale tint with horns and scutes and spikes protruding from any which way of the body. It meant holding his head high, pretending all he owned wasn’t only barely clothing his back. Cedar stomped across the dusty road, past clothing stores, homes, and an auction house. Nightmares didn’t venture over the other side anymore, but surely they knew how much they resembled their food? So much so, Cedar almost missed the muddy vehicle parked just off the road over an empty plot of land surrounded by a small gathering.

A lone figure stood at the center, their dark skin coated with a sheen of sweat, gold jewelry winking in earnest beckon with every bob or shake of their head at something a nightmare said. They exchanged hands, a large pouch of dreamer dust for whatever kept in their suitcase, and with that, he found his answer.