Step after step, Godfrey moved through the vast expanse of golden sand under the hot sun like a nomad. He thought he knew how to survive in dungeons, but three days without a soft bed, the scorch of the sun, and beasts hungry for a fresh kill everywhere wore him down.
In the past three days, he had to learn how to find places to sleep once the sun began to set, set up his sleeping bag, and leave either Ballista or Mountain to keep watch. His pride, his knowledge, died, and his goal to compete with Isolde wavered.
However, on this third day, he was once again moving through the desert, his skin dull with yellow dust, but his eyes remained sharp.
'I'm thirsty,' he said, and drank from his water bottle, only to watch it finish after two gulps. His body craved more, but there was none. He had rationed poorly.
