Old friends

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The wind blew lazily over the barren landscape. Orange and brown earth rolled as softly as the dunes they comprised. The ground looked as though the sun had melted the top layer of the earth only to sculpt wax like curves and waves over the entire stretch of sand. The sun was barely above the horizon and already the desert floor was sizzling with heat, excitedly waiting for rain that would not come for many more weeks.
A single trail etched its way across the field. Modest footprints, those of a man with a soft step could be seen for only a few minutes before the sands began to shift and hid any trace of passage. If one were quick enough to follow the trail it would seem as though whoever was making this small intrusion in the sand was heading into the heart of the desert; into almost certain death. A death caused by heat or exhaustion, whichever came first. It would seem that way although this would not be the case.
For the maker of that trail had journeyed this way many times before. So many times in fact, that he need not stop and check for landmarks or to rest until night to find his bearing. He knew where he was headed and that was all he needed. He came to rest at the top of a particularly tall dune at mid day. Unshouldering his pack and bundle, he rifled through his back pocket for a meal that had been packed for him by the kind young lady at the inn from three nights ago. Three nights, he thought to himself. Had it already been that long? That meant his journey was almost over.
When he was full enough he rewrapped what was left of the meal and replaced it in his belt pouch. He stood, stretching his old body and remembered what it was like when he was younger to be able to stand quickly without the need to ready his...

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...ecoming a prune."
They both looked at each other and began laughing. The man had fished out a cup and made his way to the water. The water was cool, surprisingly unaffected by the heat coming from the sun. He drank a few cups of it slowly before taking a few steps back, and resting againt the base of the tree. "It is good to see you again, Casore."
"And you as well, Django," the dragon exclaimed. "But as you know I can not let you rest unless you pay the toll for tresspassing into my land."
Django smiled and kicked his shoes off. He wouldn't be going anywhere for a while and the cool sand under the tree felt nice between his toes.
"Very well. If I must, I must," He said with fake sorrow. "Have I ever told you the story of The Boy and his Turtle?"
The dragon thought for a moment. "I do not believe so," he said.
"Good, because it is one of my favorites to tell.

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