The Wandering Ant

Redgar, at least he thought his name was Redgar, had been travelling a long time. His memory had holes in it. He knew that much. Was he running from something? Was he cursed? Redgar wasn’t sure. It was frustrating not to know but he did know one thing- he had to keep moving or else something bad would happen. The details of why, like so many other things, escaped him.

Cold sand shifted under his feet. He had learned the hard way that travelling by day was virtually a death sentence. The night had its own dangers too but they were familiar ones, mostly in the form of fellow travellers or giant monsters. Few bothered with him though. He was too small to be worth the effort. He carried several concealed weapons and only a few corpses littered the road behind him.

A spiteful current of wind caught sand in its grip and sprayed it into Redgar’s face. He put one arm up and pushed blindly onwards, running from something while desperately seeking something else, and wishing he knew what either of those things were.

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