The rays of the sun shine through the dusty windows, bringing light to the dimly-lit halls of Khazim's Bree-town residence. The Southron, dressed only in a tunic and trousers, pads barefoot about his bedroom, his mind occupied by obsessive thoughts. Stress has caught up with him, as the endless festivals and celebrations of spring and summer makes his work beyond measurable capacity. Now he finds himself unable to focus on his work, enjoy his free time, or speak to his friends coherently. Nothing seems capable for him and it pricks at his self-esteem like a crow among wasted food.
Solutions come to him, but none seem to give him the sense of relief that he craves. As he shuffles over to his large, spacious bed, he sits his rear upon its side and reaches within the bowels of his mind for a time when stress did not exist in the many devious forms of the present day.
Soon, his mind floods by images, and nothing can be ascertained from reality. The dry, breathtaking heat of Far Harad's wide desert fills his lungs, and the shade of a crimson tent protects him from the all-encompassing rays of the sun. Beside him sit four of his most trusted comrades, who are all sharing tales of individual glory and the offhand complaint of the simpler aspects of their lives. In the middle of their humble circle were two large bowls of seasoned rice and dates.
Their hardened, sun-kissed faces all seem so jovial and true; free from the constraints of the known world and stuck in the timeless loop of nomadic migration. Laughter emanates beneath wraps of cloth that cover much of their visage, though their eyes show enough humor to infect others with the present comedy. Khazim is no different, reveling in a moment that will happen for hours but remain forever. One of his comrades turn to him, lifting a dusty index finger and pointing it to him. The warrior's mouth moves, and as soon as the words pour into his ears, his own mind falls into darkness.
The smell of wood and wax fill his nose again. He opens his eyes and pulls himself up from the middle of the bed, realizing quickly that he had fallen asleep in the middle of his nostalgic daydreaming. He places a dark hand upon his forehead and exhales a deep sigh; the stress he sought to escape returns as quickly as it had been whisked away.
Perhaps, he thinks, the worst would soon come to pass, and he can enjoy the time away from work once again.
