He was like the desert. Not in the romantic colors of flaming sunsets, but in the bleached skies of high noon. His was not golden-sand skin, but worn leather, smooth and creased. His lips were dry and cracked like the parched earth beneath his feet.
He wore the day like a cloak, his shoulders hunched with the familiar weight of its heat, wrapped in the coarse fibers of windswept sand. At night, h...