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Clifford wasn't sure if he should try to explain to Rafael why he didn't like the plan, why he thought it was stupid. It was clear Rafael had his mind made up; he was as stubborn as a mule. Still, Clifford tried to point out that A. or even B. might be better: wait a few days, try another direction. He told him he was afraid, afraid of the long stretch ahead without water, afraid of the heat, afraid they wouldn't make it. Rafael, though, was completely unconcerned. He told him they had plenty of water, that he knew the desert, and that if they took a shortcut, it would be much faster.

"We're taking the shortcut," Rafael said, his tone final. "We're leaving tomorrow at dawn."

Clifford swallowed hard, feeling a knot in his stomach. He didn't want to go, but he knew he couldn't stay behind alone. He had to trust Rafael, even if he thought the man was crazy. He packed his things that evening, moving mechanically, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

The next morning, the sun rose over the desert, a blinding disk of fire. They set off in silence, Rafael leading the way on his camel, Clifford following a few paces behind. The heat was already oppressive, the air thick and heavy. Clifford pulled his scarf tighter around his face, trying to keep out the dust.

Hours blurred into a single, agonizing stretch of time. The landscape was featureless, a vast expanse of sand and rock under a merciless sky. There was no shade, no landmark to guide them. Clifford felt a growing sense of despair, a gnawing fear that they were walking into a trap.

Rafael, however, seemed entirely at ease. He rode with a steady, unhurried pace, his eyes scanning the horizon. Whenever Clifford complained about the heat or the thirst, Rafael would just offer him a canteen of warm water and a reassuring smile. "Not much further," he would say. "Just over the next ridge."

But ridge after ridge appeared, each one identical to the last, and still no sign of their destination. Clifford's throat was raw, his lips cracked and bleeding. His legs felt like lead, each step an immense effort. He wanted to sit down in the sand and just give up, but the fear of being left behind kept him moving.

By late afternoon, the heat began to subside slightly, though the air remained stifling. They stopped near a cluster of boulders that offered a patch of shade. Clifford collapsed against one of the rocks, too exhausted to even speak. Rafael opened a canteen and poured some water over Clifford's head, then handed it to him.

"Drink," Rafael urged gently. "We'll rest here for a bit, then push on."

Clifford drank greedily, the warm water tasting like nectar. He looked at Rafael, who was sitting cross-legged in the sand, casually checking his compass. Despite everything, Rafael looked as fresh as he had that morning, his energy seemingly boundless.

"How much further, Rafael?" Clifford croaked, his voice barely a whisper.

Rafael looked up, pointing toward the west. "Not far now. We should reach the oasis by nightfall."

Clifford sighed, closing his eyes. An oasis. He could only hope Rafael was right.

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