Thirst

Til watched with thirst the trail of water as it made its way down the boulder with painful slowness .

He grimaced in pain at the dryness in his throat and then groaned as the skin on his lips broke under the strain. The water droplets sparkled like diamonds in the rising sun and Til had to close his eyes to ward off the pain. He turned his head and moved, consumed by the need to reach the water that trickled through the two slanted holes on top of the rock.

The stab of pain in his side reminded him of his dream and of the bewitching woman he saved from a dire fate. He remembered the sadness in her eyes as he wiped her bloodied mouth with his handkerchief. However, today he couldn't tell if the red splattered across it came from her or from the gash in his side.

Her parting words haunted him.
"You will hurt me the same tomorrow."

He dragged himself toward the boulder and held onto the ridge running between the slanted holes. He might as well do what he came here for. Behind the boulder lay the greatest treasure. He had only to slide his hand through the hole at the base of the rock, just under where the ridge ended, and break the thin columns of lime inside.

Til took a step back and flexed his fist. He watched in silence the trail of water falling from the slanted eyes of the stone, the delicate ridge ending just above the barely opened mouth and stilled.

He sank to his knees and pressed his parched lips to the rock. He blinked when the salt in the water stung, then he traced the edge of the lower crevice with his thumb.

And the rock moved.