The Vale of Bones

WE found him propped up against the sign-post pointing to Hell’s Hole water-hole and took him on. He was stark naked except for shoes, and from these his protruding, blood incrusted toes told of many weary tortured miles of cutting sand.

His only answer to our queries was an apathetic and incoherent babble — it was useless to question him, we soon discovered. Sun-blinded he was, too, and every now and again would stare us in the eye with the pathetic expression of a baby trying against insurmountable odds to make himself understood...