This topic was chosen as a tribute to Rosie Dubb's book, Gathering Storm. As I haven't read it, this story bears absolutely no relation to it.
Rain has not fallen on these plains for many years now. Where once there was grass and lush green gardens, dust and brittle twigs give evidence of the starvation of the land.
For, like a man deprived of food, the earth, without the sustenance given by water, withers and dies until only her bare bones are visible, bleached white by the harsh light of the sun.
A single man walks barefoot through this once-fertile desert, though he knows not that it was ever green. He has wandered this land for twenty-three years now, as did his father and grandfather before him, and even within three generations not one of them has seen rain fall on this parched soil.
His name is Nantill, and today he hunts a lizard.
He had seen its' footprints two days previously- huge, three toed marks bigger than his hand with a stride longer than his arm- and had been tracking it ever since.
After living on moths and sand-snake eggs for over three weeks, lizard will make a welcome change.
And now it is close. Very close.
Nantill pulls the spear from its' holder on his back, and takes one of the leather pouches from his belt. Opening the pouch, a strong scent of rotten meat wafts into the air, and he places it on the ground.
He crouches in the scrub, spear at the ready, and waits.
He does not know how long he sits there, but soon there is a crunching of dry twigs and a snorting of breath, and the lizard comes into view.
It is enormous, far bigger than anything he could possibly kill or eat on his own, and he is only too aware that he does not pose the same problem for it.
The lizards' scaled flanks heave as it sniffs at the bait, snorting in frustration when it finds nothing that would make a half-decent meal.
Then it turns it head, slowly, to where Nantill sits.
The lizard is a sandy color, its' back covered in large spikes that stick out at odd angles.
Though all creatures of its kind look slow and plodding, they are capable of bursts of speed that no human could ever hope to outrun.
Nantill knows this, as he slowly rises to his feet so that his head is now level with the lizards.
He knows it even as he points his spear at the things snout.
And he knows that he is going to die as it begins to charge.
He throws the spear as hard as he can, hoping to buy some time, though it could not possibly pass through the scaly hide, before turning and, without even checking to see if it hits or not, he runs.
He runs like he has never ran before, feet pounding against the dry dust, sweat pouring from his face, not looking where he's going, not caring where he's going, as long as it is far away.
And now he's falling, tumbling almost vertically downwards, sand entering his nose and mouth as he struggles for breath even as it is knocked from his body.
Finally it stops, and he lies face down in the sand, waiting for those crushing jaws to snatch his life away.
Nothing happens.
He staggers to his feet, and stares.
He fell from the top of a steep hill into a basin, of sorts, surrounded on all sides by similar sand-dunes.
The lizard is nowhere in sight.
It is like he's fallen into another world.
Before him is a gigantic structure rising out of the sand, of a material he has never seen before. It is not rock, nor is it bone, but something that glints in the sun like stars that have fallen from the sky. Scattered around it is debris of the same luster.
The place stinks of death.
Nantill walks cautiously over to the structure, and, when it makes no move to hurt him, he gingerly touches it. It is smooth, and so hot that he snatches his hand away with a yelp.
And he knows, suddenly and without doubt, that people lived here once, long ago. He can feel it. Though how they died, he does not know.
He hears a rumbling sound from somewhere far away, and glances up, startled. The hairs rise on the back of his neck as he gazes at the horizon.
Clouds, huge, swirling black clouds roll across the sky, swallowing up the light of day as they do so.
Nantill shivers as a cold wind strikes up, bringing with it an unfamiliar scent that no living creature has smelled for an age.
And while Nantill does not know what this means, I do. And I will tell you.
Just as the storm came to take away the lives and homes of the people who destroyed the land so many years ago, it comes again.
But this time, it gives life back.
