He stood. But his feet could not be seen. The long black cloak draped over his shoulders covered him to his toes, long enough to cover but not enough to drag on the ground if he decided to walk. Black was his hair, almost as black as his piece of untreated leather. Yet as a dust twister spiraled far to his right, the wind picked out the slight band of silver and grey hidden within his long crop of hair. As the wind died back down, a shiver ran though his scalp, shifting the ruffled hair back to its original position, his fringe falling over his face, partly obscuring the only part of his body exposed to the dry heated air. The orbs seem to pulsate with a thick red flow, showing signs not the signs of his age, but the continual wariness over all the decades.

Seen too much these eyes have. Please let this be the last.

Walls of red rock towered over him on both sides, their flimsy edges unsuitable for climbing if any fool soul would dare its sharp incline. No worry on either side for no ambush would ever work if mounted from the top. All his concentration could be focused to his front, the rest of the canyon.

They come.

And so they did. A cloud of dust rose at the far end of the canyon, too far for him to see. Yet the marching beats of a hundred boots echoed around the chasm, rattling pebbles along the dirt ground. Puffs of dirt fell from the top of the canyon, stones and sand rolling down its sides, swirling around the dark figure, yet seemed to not touch him.

Time.

He shifted his feet, and twisted his right side towards his back. Back muscles twitching and shoulder shrugging, a handle seemed to rise out of the back of his cloak. Rising up above the tall collar that hid the lower half of his face, a glimpse of a blade could be seen.

So could the dust cloud. With a blink and the muttering of incantations under his breath, Ezekiel steeled himself for battle.