ibn al-farouk spurred his mount on, past the high cliffs, under the risen moon. camp would soon be made, his animal was near exhaustion, and he himself yearned for but one more dream. it had been many excruciating months since they began, long months of searching and wandering, with those accursed dreams prompting the sovereign man, ever onward.
his dark robes flowing about, ibn al-farouk sits by a small fire, lost in the desert. another approaches, sounds of hoof-beats filling the otherwise solitaire night as grumbling thunders. a long, impossibly tall man steps down from his beast, gesturing toward the fire.
said ibn al-farouk through side-eyes to the long man, “come, fellow traveler, and sit in warmth with a kind stranger. partake in bread and sweetmeats, as our camels drink from a common spring.”
seating himself thusly, the long man offers, “i seek a child yet to be borne unto the world.”
ibn al-farouk responds, “i too await this child. riddles of the gods have led me here, for his benefit. what gifts do you bear for him?”
“i give nothing,” declares the long man, his shadow fastly growing.
“what burdens will you carry for him?” asks ibn al-farouk.
“i take nothing,” the long man curses.
the two men abruptly stand, opposing each other in the peace of night.
drawing his sword, ibn al-farouk commands, “i have been chosen to distract you, base demon, to find you and to bind you from the birthing of a tale.”
the sky darkens, winds howling and winds raging as the long man hisses, clawing away his raiment to unveil nightmare of blood, nightmare of sulfur.
and thus ibn al-farouk, the fourth king, fights to his willful death against the monster, while leagues away a young mother’s newborn babe wails his first sorrows at the imponderable gods.