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The boy heard voices.
They were far away and indistinct, but they half-pulled him out of his heatstroke-induced daze. It had been so long since he had seen other people.
Apen tried to open his eyes and only succeeded in cracking them into slits. The bright light of a clear day stabbed his senses like a hot poker, and he realized he was on the ground, a thick length of cloth gripped tightly in one fist.
He didn't remember how he got there. Where was Ansam?
As if the horse could read his master's sluggish thoughts, a warm, snuffly nose pressed into the boy's face. Apen scrunched his eyes against the hot breath and turned his head a little. Satisfied that the human was still alive, Ansam's face retreated.
The boy found himself drifting again. He thought he could still hear other people, laughing and talking, but his delerious mind could have been tricking him.
Suddenly, the air exploded in barking and high-pitched yipping. It came from all around, a chorus of canine excitement. A shrill whinny of distress pierced through it, forcing Apen back to the real world once more.
"Help!"
That was definitely a real human voice, young and feminine. Apen tried to move. Something was happening to Ansam and possibly to the other people. He had to save his horse.
The boy only managed to move his arms because the rest of him felt like a lump of half-starved lead. It hurt to tense up, to do anything requiring effort, but he had to try.
More shouting made its way to his ears and he felt the burning sun grow colder. The wind picked up, ghost-like, and rustled the tall grass.
There was a scream. "Behind you!"
The wind snapped and Apen vaguely heard a deep voice yell, "RUN!"
Weavers, his brain told him. He was back at the wall with the poor condemned as they were picked off one by one by the weavers.
A rush of cold air blew past and vanished around him. No matter how badly he sometimes wished for it all to be over, the weavers wouldn't touch him. Typical.
The yipping had all but stopped. Had they gotten Ansam? Despair overwhelmed the boy.
Then a wet nose was shoved into his face. For a moment he imagined it was his horse, but then he heard the quick sniffing and smelled rancid dog-breath. Coyotes, seeing if he was their next meal. Apen felt a surge of anger at the animals and reached up one hand to shove weakly at them.
Everything else had been taken away from him, why did these pack hunters have to take his only friend as well?
Even the small act of pushing the furry face away sent waves of heat to rack his frame. The boy let his arm drop and felt the coyotes get closer. Maybe it would be better if they just ended him now.
"Hey!"
Apen's thoughts fogged over again. Since when could coyotes shout in indignation?
Something hard jabbed his shoulder but he didn't move. He couldn't, overwhlemed by weakness and exhaustion. Someone said something and pressed two fingers under his jaw.
Strong arms slowly, carefully lifted him up, cradling his thin body with gentle movements. Apen relaxed into the hold, imagining for a moment that it was his father and he was back home and nothing had ever happened to tear his life apart.
The last thing he remembered before sinking softly into oblivion was the feeling of the flag still clenched in his fist.