It was an hour after sundown when Vincent thought he heard the sound of running footsteps. He stopped and turned, gazing at the ground he had covered. His keen eyes picked out the rock outcropping, tiny in the distance. About two miles back, he saw a small figure running at a ground-eating lope. Vincent sighed, wondering why the boy, Jacob, had followed him. At the pace he was going, it looked like he would catch up to Vincent in about a half hour. He wondered if he should wait. Shaking his head, he started walking again. If the boy had followed him on his own, then the boy would have to catch him on his own too. Vincent kept a steady pace throughout the night, only stopping once to attend to a call of nature. The boy was like a shadow, never seeming to get closer but never falling further behind. Sunrise came, it's soft greys turning to pale pinks to vibrant reds, oranges and yellows. An hour before high noon, Vincent was getting uncomfortable in the growing heat. He glanced back at the boy; if he was getting uncomfortable, then the boy must surely be ready to drop. Vincent stopped, dropped his pack and started rummaging through it. He found what he was looking for at the bottom. With ease born of practice, he set up his two-sided tent, staking the ropes securely. He took a small sip of water, and settled in to wait out the hottest part of the day. The oppressive heat lulled him and Vincent let his eyes slip shut, only to reopen them what felt like seconds later. His keen ears had picked out the sound of footsteps not far away. He sat up and waited for the boy to come to him. When the boy finally stumbled into his view, Vincent was surprised at his condition. He didn't look like he'd been walking for an entire night and half the day.
"Why did you follow me?" Vincent asked when the boy was in hearing range. The boy flinched, his hands twitching at his sides as if they wanted to cover his ears. Vincent could see the boy swallowing, trying to figure out a reasonable excuse. In the end, all he did was shrug.
"Come under here, where it's cooler; I won't hurt you." The boy hesitated, unsure of Vincents' intentions. He complied quickly enough when Vincent motioned with his gauntleted left hand though.
"Your name is Jacob, correct?" The boy nodded once, his bright green eyes never leaving Vincents' own blood red. He motioned for Jacob to sit, again with his left hand. The boy complied, just as quickly as before. It made Vincent wonder briefly about his upbringing.
"Can you speak?" The boy shook his head once, never breaking eye contact. "Have you always been mute?" A single nod in response. "How do you communicate then?"
'''Sign language''' Jacob said, making motions with his hands that Vincents' memory had to scramble to dredge up.
"Why did you follow me?"
'''I had to get away. They were going to leave me at the dead oasis a couple hours from where they met you. If I did not stay, they were going to chain me there. So I left them. I figured I would be safe if I went with you. I saw how John looked at you. You scared him.''' Jacobs' hands moved fast, flying through the words. Vincent stayed silent, letting his mind catch up and decipher what the boy had said.
"The one who called himself John, he said you were a danger to everyone. Why did he say that?" The boy shrugged, his roughspun shirt falling off his shoulder. Vincent glimpsed faint scars across his collarbone before he tugged it back up.
'''I was born under a blood moon, the only time ever in our village. My mother died shortly after. As I got older, things happened around me, or because of me. The villages' crops were scant or failed entirely; the wells ran dry. Everyone blamed it on me. Then the monsters began attacking. Many people died. The village elders thought that if they got rid of me, then everything would return to how it was. So John put together a party to go hunting; I was supposed to go with them and get lost and left behind while out in the Wastes.''' Vincent stayed quiet through the boys narrative, his gaze taking in every detail of the boy. He was thin, almost to the point of emaciation, his bones standing out in sharp relief. His hair hung in thick dreads to waist, and Vincent could see where it was starting to go white at the roots. Actually, on closer inspection, it was more silver than white.
"How old are you?" Vincent asked, reaching over to his pack and snagging a waterskin from it. He handed it to the boy, motioning for him to drink when he hesitated. The boy drank deeply, practically draining it before he spoke.
'''I have seen fifteen summers so far.''' Vincent stared openly, dumbstruck. A child, no, a young man, to be sentenced to death? Surely being born under a blood moon couldn't have become so bad? Vincent thought back; he had been born under a blood moon too, the only son of a world renowned scientist. His mother too, had died in childbirth, despite everything the doctors had tried. After the funeral, his father had found a wet nurse, and from there, it was a steady progression of nannies and tutors as he had grown up. His father had never shown much interest in him, but he had at least provided for his son. Listening to Jacob tell about how his village had treated him, Vincent was grateful for what his own father had deemed kind.
"Won't John follow you, to carry out his duty?" Jacob shook his head no.
"What makes you think he won't follow you?" The boy reached behind his back and drew a dagger from the waistband of his pants. The blade was wickedly sharp, and though it was clean, Vincent could smell the blood of many on it.
"So you killed him?" Vincent's gauntleted left hand twitched, the serrated digits making a squealing sound as metal grated on metal. The boy glanced warily at it before smiling, a small, shy smile.
'''No, not John, just the man that was already injured. He would not have made it anyway. I merely eased his passing. As long as I never return to the village, it will not matter. John will not tell whether he let me go or killed me.''' he signed before returning the knife to his waistband. Vincent could feel his teeth clenching, and a muscle in his cheek twitching. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly, willing his tense muscles to relax. He didn't need to be going off on the boy; he was only telling the truth. Vincent inhaled and exhaled sharply, rising to his feet in a single fluid motion.
"The sun is going down. We'd best get moving." He said, untying the tent ropes and folding the waterproof canvas into a small, tight bundle. He jammed it in his pack before slinging the whole thing over his shoulder. His rifle followed suit.
'''You mean I can- I mean, you will let me come with you?''' Jacobs' hands shook as he signed, giving lie to how grateful he was. Vincent nodded, his crimson gaze catching Jacobs' own.
"You will have to keep up with me though. I tend to walk very quickly." Vincent let a small smile tug the corners of his mouth upwards before he schooled his expression still again. Turning on his heel, he marched off to the east, resuming his interrupted journey to the next oasis. If he was remembering and reading his mental map correctly, there should also be a village a weeks' walk from the oasis. Vincent glanced back at the boy following him. He had surprising stamina and resilience for looking like a walking corpse. A memory sprang unbidden to the surface, a memory of a spunky little ninja who had always said he himself looked like a corpse. He had always feigned anger or disinterest when she had called him names, though some of the names she had come up with had been utterly heinous to say the least. Vincent let a slightly larger smile than before grace his lips; he missed the spunky ninja. Returning his mind to the present, he resumed his study of Jacob. He was small for a fifteen year-old, his growth most likely stunted by poor nutrition. His hair, a muddy brown going silver at the roots, hung in dirty dreadlocks to his waist; Vincent made a top priority mental note to cut and wash the boys' hair when they got to the oasis. He was dressed in what looked like a burlap sack semi-fashioned into a shirt, with pants that looked more hole and patch than actual cloth. Both articles of 'clothing' hung loosely on him and Vincent made another note to get more clothing when they reached the village. His green eyes, so like the son of his first love, were downcast, focused intently on the ground in front of his feet. Feet that were bare. Vincent cursed inwardly at himself for not noticing sooner. The boy had followed him over scorching sands for hours, never once complaining. His feet surely must have been causing him untold agony.
"You are not wearing shoes." Vincent said in an offhand manner. Jacob started, so intently focused he hadn't heard Vincent clear his throat in preperation of speaking.
'''I have never worn shoes. I can not feel the heat of the sand very much, so it does not bother me.''' he signed, balancing on his left leg to show Vincent the hard, horn-like calluses on his right foot. Vincent nodded in acknowledgment. They continued walking in amiable silence until he noticed that Jacob was flagging. Vincent glanced at the sun; it was going down in the west, a handspan from the horizon. He supposed they could stop-
'''I smell that mean we are near the oasis?''' Jacob signed, his strength returning a bit at the prospect. Vincent nodded, motioning for him to follow. He complied, as fast as his leaden legs would allow. Despite how strong the scent of water had been, it took another twenty minutes to reach the oasis. They were not disappointed though; it was the largest Vincent had seen in many a year, at nearly four times the size of the last one he had been to. The lake, for it was far too large to call a pond, boasted crystal clear blue waters. Vincent could see the silvery bodies of innumerable fish; good, they would have dinner and food for travel. Vincent looked around some more, his old work habits coming to the fore. There were a large number of desert hardy trees, and Vincent was surprised to recognize a coconut tree, heavy with fruit. Small, brightly colorful birds flitted from one tree-top to the next, calling in high, shrill voices; Vincent imagined they were telling each other about the intruders in their safe haven.