They called him Wide Eagle, but that was long ago, before the hunger struck and his people starved. Now, they may just as well have called him Small Eagle, or Bone Eagle, for his clothes hung as if made for a man twice his size. His ribs protruded from skin thin as paper, the flesh grey and sickly. He could not recall the last time he had eaten. And the lack of water withered him. The land, which once nurtured and sustained him, was now his enemy. Barren and cruel. He sat, perched on a rocky outcrop, peering out across the dusty plain, but lost in thought. The hours, like the view, blurred into one and he knew, if he knew nothing at all, no game would wander into sight. Nothing lived here now, nothing ever would again. At least, not whilst he breathed.
He pulled himself upright, stretchin
