Crossing The Karakum
The kAmels trudged out of the Hindu Kush with the resentment of their non-cybernetic counterparts. There was something inherent to the animal that was ornery, and the mechanical versions had inherited that. Tomas thought it might have been trudging through the mountains from Dehli to Kabul to Herat and on towards Tejen that had made the creatures so persnickety. But even now as the land flattened out and the desert heat rose to greet them, the kAmels still fought the bit.
Tejen sat on the edge of the Karakum, along the Hari river which they’d been following to a greater extent for the majority of their journey. Tomas started ahead, the flow of the river indicating their planned direction. Yet he had an urge to turn away from it. To maybe head for Merv, or Buhkara.
One of the city-states would be an enticing destination, rather than crossing the desert. But even they with their opportunities to bathe, sleep in a bed, and avoid the hostilities of the environment, we’re not entirely safe places. Their destination was further north, whatever their route, and Tomas knew their was no avoiding it. The desert was their best choice because no one in their right mind would choose to cross it. Even the nomads who once roamed the steppes had given it up in return for comfort.
Today’s art is courtesy of Victor Hugo Harmatiuk from Curitiba, Brazil.