Thirst
A trio of travellers, a Midlander, a Lalafell, and a Sunseeker Miqo'te, wandered across the golden dunes, not completely sure where they were, other than somewhere in the vicinity of Southern Thanalan. It had been days since they last saw any signs of civilization, and the heat and glare of the desert sun was starting to take its toll. The shortage of provisions wasn't helping either. They were nearly out of water, and the only food they still had were dried meats salted far beyond what was neccesary for preservation.
“We’ll die of thirst before we see another soul again.” The Miqo'te said.
The party saw before them a lone, spindly tree, clinging desperately to life, a scant few leaves still dotting the branches. It looked beyond pathetic, limbs wilting and near barren. But there was one branch, drooping low enough to almost touch the sands, sporting a single bright red, bulbous fruit. It was the size of a fist, smooth and waxy and free of blemishes, almost a perfect sphere save for the tiny crown shape on the bottom.
The fruit was bursting with so much vitality that it seemed as though the tree hat put every drop of its life into this one, single fruit. The Hyur, delrious from dehydration, reached over and plucked the fruit before his companions could protest. It was heavy with a hard, thick rind that was a chore to pierce through with a not-so-sharp knife, but split apart easily enough with a satisfying crack once it had been sliced open.
Within the milk white pith of the fruit were several small seeds, each surrounded a ruby red, jelly-like membrane. The midlander took a bite, the juice within sweet and tart and full of flavor, each seed small and smooth enough to be swallowed whole with ease. He offered a third to each of his companions, who reluctantly accepted. The Lalafell wrapped his portion of fruit in a handkerchief and slid it into his pack, while the Miqo'te ate her portion with ravenous vigor, blood red juice dripping down her chin.
With their short rest now over, they continued through the sands with renewed determination and strength, pushing onward for two more nights, until they came to a small settlement near an oasis.
The midlander had begun to complain of an upset stomach, and would grasp at his gut in pain every now and again, so they decided to rest for a few days to give their friend a chance to recover. The residents of the settlement were wary, but offered shelter and water to them all the same.
That night, the midlander could scarce sleep, clutching his torso as he tossed and turned on his bedroll. Sweat beaded across his skin, which was flushed red and hot, and the only sounds he could manage were a few grunts and moans of agony.
By daybreak, he had fallen silent. His two friends hung their heads in sorrow, mourning their companion who had succumbed to the mysterious fever that has wracked his body. The two remaining travellers wrapped him in a coarse blanket and took their leave from the settlement.
The desert heat made transporting him an insurmountable task, with both of them lacking the strength to carry their friend further, so the pair opted to leave him to the vultures. As the Lalafell unwrapped the blanket they found his skin shriveled and marked with dark grey veins, his abdomen swollen and stretched.
They continued on, stopping to set up camp. As they spread the coarse blanket across the floor of the tent, they noticed a few small leaves, as well as small flecks of what appeared to be blood.
"My friend, are you feeling alright?" The Lalafell asked, noticing that the Miqo'te's skin had gone palid, a cold sweat breaking out across her forhead.
"I am fine." She responded, forcing a smile. "Whatever this is will pass."
"Could this perhaps the be same illness that took our companion?" he asked.
"It's just a stomach ache, I will be fine. We are but two days travel from Ul'Dah. If I'm not better by then we can find a physician. Now let us get some sleep."
The next day, as they continued their journey, the Miqo'te's condition only seemed to deteriorate further, her skin growing clammy and sallow, the same dark grey veins appearing across her throat and arms. By the time the sun reached its apex, she was unable to speak, and had grown so weak she could barely walk.
"We should set up camp so you can rest." The Lalafell declared, pulling out their tent. "We have enough water to last us a few more days, we can stay here until you have recovered some, then we can continue to Ul'dah."
The Miqo'te groaned and tried to shake her head, her lack of strength causing her head to do little more than wobble pitifully. Unable to protest, she lay there, weak and tired, as her friend set up camp around her. That evening he cradled her head as he helped her with a drink of water.
"You will be okay, and once you're little better we'll make for Ul'dah and find you a healer." He was doing his best to choke back the tears, but as he gazed down at his friend's once joyful face, now shrivelled and lined with dark gray veins, he knew she was never leaving that spot. Whatever had taken their Hyur friend was now leaving its mark on the Miqo'te, and it would be but a matter of hours before the illness would take her. He resolved to stay by her side until then.
He grasped her hand in his as she began to spasm, her throat bulging as her eyes watered, a look in her eyes like she wanted to scream, but all she could do was weakly gag as her eyes pleaded for Thal's sweet embrace.
She began to cough and hack, her body convulsing as a small, pulsing vine burst forth from her mouth, just barely unfurling with fresh green leaves at the end, thinly coated in red mucus.
Horror filled his eyes as he fell back. The Miqo'te's body spasmed one last time and lay still. His friend had was gone, small tendrils emerging from the ends of the gray veins on her skin, reaching down towards the earth, searching for a place to grow. The remaining traveler shoved what he could in his pack and ran from the site, wishing now more than ever to get to the city as fast as he could.
When he reached Ul'dah, he collapsed against the wall, furiously checking his arms, relief washing over him as he saw none of the grey veins. What was different? Why had only he been spared? Would the same fate befall him too?
He didn't have the strength to fight back as a pickpocket rushed by and stole his pack. Realization dawned on him as he saw the thief remove a small, wrapped piece of red fruit from the pack, lifting it to his lips to take a bite...
Written 2020/10/19
Posted 2024/03/01