Name

The three sat in the cool shade of the moon, its new blackness rippling across the sliver of pale white shining against the roaring stars, their intertwining patterns connecting dotting the sky like houses across the map. The blistering cold rupturing through the sand, its cool glow numb… feeling so similar.

The man with red hair sat on top of the wagon, his cracked and thirsty lips drinking like a browning plant. The boiling liquid running down his throat. The other two stared at the drifting embers, warming their callused fingers by the crackling flame, each spike of red-hot fire ending in a beautiful snap, like the wood underneath was trapping the fire, its brown branch snapped and allowing the fire to break free.

"Well now, and I thought it would be impossible to like yer cookin'."

"An' yers is any better?" Yure moved across the sand, his frail legs seeming strong and confident. His bones never stumbling under the leather skin. "Glad you enjoyed it, we'll be arriving at Izmir soon, maybe tomorah."

"Ye know you'll have to speak eventually!" Xanthus' voice drifted over the desolate spot, its hitched and notched voice catching and spluttering over the darkened sky.

Yure turned his body, it seemed like it ought to creek under the pressure. His eyes staring into Xanthus' soul with pure malice.

"My… Name?"

The man dropped to the floor, his feet making small craters in the sand.

"I am closest to my lord Gilgamesh, The Undying Warrior."

The two stood in silence, Mahon's voice was shaky, like a boy learning to speak.