The day was early, but relentless. The sun was the main culprit, as it offered little sympathy to anyone foolish enough to travel. Trees were few and far between, and water was practically nonexistent. Aside from a few birds chirping away, there wasn't any sound to be heard. It wasn't a desert, but it felt like it.
	The world may have been perfectly still, and very quiet, if not for two male voices bickering back and forth.
	“If we don’t stop at a town, our supplies will run out.” The younger of the two was doing most of the talking. Or rather, he was doing most of the complaining. He rested his lean frame against a pitiful looking tree, a frown on his face as he watched the older, broader man.
	“It isn't too late to turn back,” the younger reminded him, an edge of annoyance in his tone. The heat, coupled with the man's infuriating stubbornness, made him want to punch something. Or him.
	“I’m not going back.” The older man grunted, adjusting the saddle straps. “Town’s cursed,” he spat on the ground, grumble-mumbling about the redhead being a fool.
	“You said that about the last town!” The younger male pushed off of the tree, gesturing to the dusty path with an irritated wave of hand. “A couple of sick elderly folk hardly means the town’s cursed, Griff. If it makes you feel better, we’ll stock up on supplies and go.”
	Attaching a moth-eaten blanket to his saddle, Griff shook his head. The man’s eyes were barely visible underneath his busy brows. “No, Ziden.”
	Sighing in aggravation, Ziden remained watching as Griff retrieved a small leather pouch from his pocket. The contents inside made a satisfying ‘clink’ when moved. 
	“Here's your half,” Griff grumbled. He tossed the redhead the pouch of coins without looking. “I told you that’d be our last heist.”
	Ziden caught the pouch with one hand, raising a skeptical brow as he poured a few coins onto his palm to inspect them. “I didn’t think you were serious.”
	“I’m always serious," Griff responded, in the same low, gruff voice he used for any and every occasion.
	“Fair enough.” Ziden pocketed the coins, folding his arms across his chest as he chose to watch Griff gather his belongings together rather than help. 
	With a grunt, Griff slipped his foot into the loop of the saddle and mounted his chestnut steed. “If you’re smart, you’ll avoid that town…and the next one after.” 
	Ziden watched as his former partner in crime rode away. Shaking his head, he pocketed a second leather pouch that made an even more satisfying 'clink'. "And if [b]you[/b] were smart...you'd realize I just picked your pocket."

[hr] 
	For the rest of the afternoon, Ziden traveled alone. The terrain remained flat and uninteresting, which gave his mind ample room to wander. He hardly considered Griff a friend, but he found himself wondering about him. For the past week, Griff had been mumbling about the land being cursed and the deaths that were to follow.
	By the time evening came to cool the land, Ziden was already hot, tired, and disgruntled. Supplies were running low, his horse was worn, and his luck was running drier than his canteen. 
	“Should’ve turned back,” he muttered, dismounting the mare. He decided to walk on foot awhile, giving his legs a chance to stretch. The road had been long, hot, and boring. For him, the boredom was perhaps the worst part about it. 
	He reached up to pet his horse, a weary, sort of bored sounding sigh escaping him. "Looks like it's just you, me, and..." the words trailed off. Just East of their location, he saw evidence of a fire being started, the light showing up against the blanket of night.
	Ziden chuckled lightly, a sly, cunning smirk pulling at his lips. "Looks like we found our supplies."