Are we there yet?

The relentless summer sun bore down on us, casting long shadows across the barren landscape of orange-tan rocks and desert sand that stretched endlessly in all directions. Our pilgrimage moved slowly, each jolt and bump of the wagon reminding us of the harsh reality we faced.

In the back of the wagon, I glanced around at our group. Eve's impatience was palpable, her voice breaking the silence yet again. "Are we there yet?" she groaned, her frustration evident.

Paul and I exchanged weary looks before answering in unison, "No, Eve. We're not there yet." Her grumbling protest resonated through the caravan, a testament to the weariness and uncertainty that gripped us all.

Ahead of us, Paul expertly handled the reins of two sturdy horses, guiding them with practiced ease. We trailed behind another group of carriages from our tribe, a solemn procession of twenty or more wagons carrying the remnants of our shattered community. The weight of our collective loss hung heavy in the air, a silent burden we all carried.

As the sun began its slow descent, we finally halted to make camp. The women and children were given priority, finding refuge in the shade of the wagons while the men took on the roles of protectors and providers. Some stood watch, their eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger, while others tended to the animals or gathered firewood.

Evening settled upon us like a comforting shroud. The sky turned a deep shade of violet as we gathered around a crackling campfire, its warmth a welcome reprieve from the day's relentless heat. Voices rose in song, ancient melodies that spoke of resilience and hope, passed down through generations. Children played nearby, their laughter a fleeting reminder of innocence amidst the harsh realities of our journey.

Under the soft glow of the moon, makeshift tents were erected from worn cloth and sturdy sticks, forming a circle of temporary shelters that offered a semblance of security in the vast wilderness. The campfire became the focal point of our gathering, its dancing flames casting flickering shadows on the faces of weary travelers who shared stories of lost homes and cherished memories.

My thoughts wandered back to the day we fled—the acrid smoke billowing from our burning village, the gut-wrenching sight of loved ones left behind amidst the ruins. Seventy years of peace shattered in an instant, our once-thriving tribe reduced to scattered survivors clinging to fragile hope.

Anger simmered within me, a smoldering ember fueled by the injustice of our plight. As demi-humans, we were outmatched against the relentless onslaught of human cruelty, our abilities no match for their ruthless determination. Yet, amidst the despair, a flicker of defiance burned—a belief that somewhere, someone would rise to champion our cause and lead us to safety.

As night deepened and exhaustion weighed heavily on my limbs, I lay beneath the star-strewn sky, the quiet murmurs of my companions lulling me into a restless sleep. In the stillness of the desert night, I dreamed of a guiding light to lead us forward, through the shadows of uncertainty, towards a future where our people could once again find peace and prosperity.

That's right... I could only find solace in dreams.