“How did we get so lost?”
“Dust Devils, sarge.”
“Dust Devils?”
“I reckon. That sudden sandstorm, and now all the landmarks are jumbled up? I’d say a Dust Devil picked us up and dropped us way off course. Crafty buggers.”
I am Sergeant Glacier, and I am melting.
The desert sun burns overhead. The sand burns underhoof. Even the air burns as it presses up against me. My Royal Guard armour feels like my own personal oven. And the oversized sword slung across my back doesn’t help at all.
Trotting alongside me, Private Punch - my pegasus companion - seems to be faring a little better. Only a few flecks of foamy sweat are visible beneath her golden armour, contrasting sharply against her dark coat. Of course, what with me being a northern unicorn with a dense mane and lengthy fetlocks, most ponies handle heat better than me. I'm practically swimming in my own sweat.
Seriously, what was the lieutenant thinking, sending me of all ponies out here?
What was I thinking, trying to reach Tranquility Springs on hoof in the middle of the day? It hadn’t seemed that far when looking at the map in Appleloosa’s Royal Guard outpost...
And now I’ve managed to get lost before even reaching my first assignment as sergeant. Great start, Glacier.
With a sigh, I finally reach the top of the dune I’ve been struggling up. Squinting against the glare, I scan the horizon.
Rocks. Hills. Rocky hills.
Nope, still lost.
That dark line way in the distance is probably the Macintosh ranges. But given the size of the range, that doesn’t really help narrow down my position. I consider my options. None are very appealing, but there is a clear first step.
“I’ve not heard of Dust Devils before, private. Tell me about them.”
I hate to defer to a subordinate - my very first subordinate - when it comes to dangerous wildlife. That’s supposed to be my area of expertise. But I’d be a fool to risk our lives and our mission for the sake of my pride.
“Well sarge, I don’t know if there’s been any, y’know, proper study or anything. I’ve just heard folklore and campfire stories. But the ponies around these parts tell about sudden sandstorms which come outta nowhere and leave travellers disoriented, sometimes miles off course.”
She turns to face me fully face. I can see the corners of her mouth twitching.
“The way the buffalo tell it, the sandstorms are whipped up by these eeevil, mischievous desert spirits - the Dust Devils - who lead travellers to their doom with mirages and illusions, feeding off the poor bastards’ desperation and despaaair.”
Punch narrates that last part in an exaggerated “spooky” voice, waving her forehooves in the air for emphasis. For a desperate and/or despairing mare, she's awfully chipper.
Grinning at my deadpan stare, she returns to her normal voice.
“I guess they’re sorta like the, uh, Hearths’ Warming spirits. Windigos? You have them up north, right boss?”
“There hasn’t been a confirmed Windigo sighting in centuries, but I get you.”
I frown. This information is concerning if true. Windigos are an old bogeymare all throughout the north. If I'm dealing with creatures of that nature, then my trusty sword isn’t gonna cut it.
Heh. "Cut it". Sword puns.
The heat must be getting to me. I'm starting to sound like dad.
I chuckle slightly. It comes out more as a cough. I try to swallow. With my parched throat, it feels like swallowing sandpaper. This leads to more coughing.
Punch drops the goofy grin and kindly hoofs over her canteen. It’s still mostly full. My own ran out half an hour ago.
The dusky pegasus watches me closely, professional concern on her face. Part of me wants to tell her to stop gawking, but I suppose she’s just doing her job as a medic. Still, I'm not going to show weakness in front of my one and only subordinate. I force myself to take only a single mouthful. The water’s uncomfortably warm, but my throat immediately feels better for it. Burying my feelings of relief (and desire to down the rest of the bottle), I quickly replace the cap and put on my professional sergeant face.
“Thank you, private.”
I float the canteen back with my unicorn magic, giving Punch a grateful nod. She gives a grin and a mock salute in return.
“You’ve spent some time with the local buffalo then?”
“Aye, sarge. Just finished a two week exchange program with ‘em.”
“I see. So how do the buffalo deal with Dust Devils?”
Her grin gets even wider, and she ruffles her wings.
“Mostly they ask me to fly up and look for landmarks.”
“Is that so? Well, far be it from me to question the ancient wisdom of the majestic buffalo. Get your flank into the air and see what you can see, private.”
With another salute, the pegasus launches herself into the sky, a blast of hot air and sand splashing against me. Squinting, I watch her lazily soar in slow circles overhead. A dark smudge, armour glinting in the sunlight, set against an impossibly deep blue sky.
A few minutes pass. I wish I had some shade.
Eventually Punch glides down to a rest beside me.
“I reckon we’ve overshot Tranquility Springs, sarge. There’s a town northeast of us, on the other side of that low ridge. Maybe an hour away on hoof.”
She waves lazily toward a brownish plateau in the distance. I think I can just make out rooftops peeking out beyond it.
“Very good, private. Let’s get going.”
I start trekking down the sand dune, but Punch seems to hesitate.
“If you like, I could fly ahead and get some help? Find a wagon, or maybe fetch some more water?”
She’s looking at me with that concerned medic’s eye again. True, I’d kill for some cold water right now, but I'm not about to let myself be coddled by a subordinate.
“Tempting as that sounds, private, I think we’d best stick together. I can manage another hour out here. And besides, if the Dust Devils strike again, where else will I find a Private Punch to look for landmarks? The buffalo were quite specific about them.”
Punch grins and falls in beside me.
“Right you are, boss.”