Prophets Sword / Season 1, Episode 8
Stumble in the Sand
Amara’s sandal caught on a jagged shard of rock, sending a jolt of pain up her calf as she stumbled forward, her hands clawing at the air to keep from pitching face-first into the sand. The wadi stretched silent around her, its dry bed a mockery of the water they so desperately needed. Above, the sun was a merciless hammer, pounding heat into her skull through the thin indigo wrap around her head. Her tongue felt like a strip of leather, scraping against the roof of her mouth as she sucked in a breath that tasted of dust and despair. “Keep moving!” Moussa’s voice barked from ahead, raw with frustration, cutting through the haze of her exhaustion. He stood atop a low ridge, his broad frame silhouetted against the blinding sky, one hand shielding his eyes as he scanned the horizon. His leather armor was streaked with sweat and grit, the iron spear in his other hand gleaming dully under a film of sand. “We don’t stop ‘til we find the spring Ibn swore was here. You hear me?” “I hear you shouting,” Kwame muttered from behind Amara, his tone sharp enough to cut through the still air. He trudged a few paces back, the stolen manuscript tucked into the fold of his rough cotton tunic, one hand resting lazily...