On the winds blowing across the desert sands, he thought he could hear the last few notes of a song they sang in the past month, but the sound dies underneath the heavy breathing of a thirsty people.
He looks again to see if he could find a cloud in the sky; as if his eyes could will them into existence. As his throat gets drier and drier, it gets harder and harder to voice his complaints and grumbles, because surely any life would be better than this. His sandals have worn themselves down to his bones, and there were many things he had to leave behind. The path behind them is now littered with much more than just footprints, like a reversed trail of breadcrumbs one creates in order to trap a sparrow.
He’s hungry and thirsty, and when his leader declares that their needs will be met, he remains pretty skeptical, because even though he’s still alive, he’s still a human being.
That evening, a different kind of cloud – a cloud of food – appears and lands in their camp, and he wonders whether it’s possible to be happy and dismayed at the same time.