The Quest

The lethargic, sandy breeze rustled through the sparse weeds and stunted shrubs.  On the horizon, the sun was cloaked by dusk’s scarlet, purple and orange.  The heat of the day faded; he paid it no notice, green eyes fixed on the mountain rising like a dagger from the arid plain.  His loose robes, dusty brown like everything else, kept the heat at bay and shielded him from cold darkness.  His cracked, dry lips parted for a moment as he raised his water-skin.  The lukewarm fluid soothed his thirst.  The mountain beckoned.  Fingering his revolver, he could not forget his vows.