Definitely Up

Qeul had traveled six days and five nights over the plains.  He had stopped to rest only twice, and had nearly died on both occasions.  The plains were not safe. No height. Can't stay off the ground, so you have to keep moving.

He was carrying two tusks, each nearly as long as he was tall, behind him.  There had been the skull of some kind of elephant creature a few kilometers back, and if Quel could just find a stick, or some kind of post he could construct a tower. Three legs, very sturdy.  Sleep on that.  Up. Off the ground.

He looked at his blistered, bleeding feet.

Yes, definitely up.

He scanned the horizon.  Quel had never seen so much nothing in his life, and would be most glad never to see it again.  For the third time, he questioned if he had gone mad. That's what happens to people without sleep. They go mad. Everyone knows that.

His feet started to tingle, and he realized he had stopped moving. No good, no good. He trudged forward, dragging what he hoped was his salvation behind him.

He thought of home while he walked. Of Vanya, and her blessed smile. Of the smell of roasted vegetables and the taste of cooked meat.  He smiled, and his face hurt. He rubbed his cheeks with a hand. How long has it been since I did that?

He blinked, and the world tumbled for a moment. In an instant he was on his feet again, a fighter's reflexes popping him into a defensive crouch in the instant of threat. But there was no threat. He had simply... fallen.

Fallen asleep.

Only for an instant, but the realization struck him hard. He was falling asleep while he walked. And death comes to those who sleep on the plains.

No, I will not die here.

He grabbed his tusks, and walked on.

And walked.

And walked.

Could I make a stand with the two tusks?  No... no it would fall. It needs the third support, or it will fall and I will be on the ground.  Bad.

And walked.

And walked.

And as the sun began to set on the sixth day of Quel's quest through the plains, he fell to his knees in despair. He watched the sun fade down below the horizon, and the moon peek out of the darkness while his knees began to burn beneath him. And soon, he fell forward, his body slumping face first into the soft, deadly ground.

Only it wasn't soft. Not at his face. In fact, it was painfully hard. The pain jolted him awake, just enough to realize his fortune. He crawled up onto his feet, blood seeping out of a dozen wounds on his knees, and ran his hands over the ground. There was something... something metal.  Metal is good.

It was long, and thin. Oh, sweet praise yes it's perfect!  He got his hands around it, and pulled. It was caught in the roots of the grasses, but he pulled and pulled and it tore free.

Perfect.

A metal pole, half-hand wide and more than a man tall. There was some kind of flat shape on one end, with eight sides. Might make a decent shovel, if he bent it right.  But that's tomorrow's problem.

He reached in to his pack, and pulled out some rope.  In a few moments, he had constructed a three-legged structure with the pole and tusks.  At last.

It looked like a giant caltrop, a collection of sharp points bound in the centre. He gave it a test shake, and it appeared to be sturdy enough. He climbed up, and rested his back against one of the protruding tusks, cradling himself in the middle. At last.

I will not die here, he thought. Instead, I will sleep.

And so he smiled, and fell asleep.