Takeo wasn’t sure which he hated more, the days or the nights. During the day, when the hot sun burned down on him like a roaring furnace, leeching the water from his already parched body, he was sure he hated daytime more. Although he could sunburn to divert the sun’s rays from him, the light was relentless and he had to hold the magic continually, draining his already depleted strength. It was no substitute for true shade.

After dark, he was certain that he hated the nights more. For about thirty minutes, after the sun set and the air began to cool, the desert was a pleasant twilight landscape of muted color and heat. But then it grew bitter cold. The breeze that had been so welcome during the day now threatened to shake his bones out of his body.

The first day and night, Takeo had been filled with firm determination. Surviving the desert would be the greatest challenge he had ever undertaken. But he would rise to it, and find a way out. He would overcome this.

The second day and night, Takeo’s determination wilted. He was thirsty. He hadn’t found any water. He hadn’t seen any other signs of life. When he happened upon an outcropping of rocks, he rested there, grateful for a small measure of relief.

Despair festered within him. He prayed to Taiyo, though he had little confidence that Taiyo would bless him with survival. Did he even believe in the god anymore? As a boy, he had loved the stories of Taiyo’s adventures: like when Taiyo wrestled a comet out of the night sky, or when he tricked the golden bear and stole his tail. As Takeo grew, the god had become a companion—someone with whom to share his fears and his dreams. But when Takeo became a man, the god had become…inconvenient. Takeo saw his life’s path and no longer needed Taiyo to guide his steps. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so certain of his own capabilities. For now it appeared that Taiyo had abandoned him.