It was by accident that I found the Keeper.
I had spent so long wandering through the barren landscape, stones dislodging from the scree slopes and finding their way into my by then tattered shoes. The sky never brightened from its familiar sepia murk, but by chance I stumbled out from behind a rock and saw a vague figure, bent double against the wind, a bundle of something in its arms.



This is the first person I have seen for a long, long time.
I approach, thankful for my footfall being muffled by the cocooning blanket of dust in the air. Though I’m not quiet enough, as the figure pauses halfway reaching to the ground, and looks my way.
I clear my throat.
“I’m not a threat, just looking for shelter.”
The figure doesn’t move.
“I’ve been walking for a long time, so I’d be really grateful for some food and shelter. I’ve got things to trade, don’t worry.”
There’s a long pause, and I start to wonder if walking for so long through these wastelands has made me so exhausted that I’m hallucinating the whole thing.
The figure stands up, and beckons.

*