Caravan

Our caravan was exhausted and on the verge of our strength. We have gotten lost in the blizzard this morning and any remaining signs of the road have been buried under a thick layer of snow. The only thing that propelled us forward was a wisp of smoke on the horizon that signaled what must have been at least a tiny bit of civilization.

And hope.

Hope that we are not going to freeze to death in this godforsaken valley. The only thing we need to achieve to avoid that is to get near whatever it is that is on fire. The fact that even after the entire day of marching towards it we seem to be no closer than before brings up in my mind stories about the fabled fata morgana that mocks travelers in much warmer corners of the world, than the one we found ourselves in.

I try not to think about it too much, convincing myself that we are safe from such tricks of nature, but I can’t shake the sense of dread that grows with every mile we pass. It is going to be night soon and the wind is picking up again and I know, I just know, that we won’t survive another storm out in the wild.