The land had always been parched but its thirst for blood was learned.
The people indigenous to the land could not stay as no crops would grow. Travelers exploring the west never stayed for longer than a fortnight. Frontiersmen swept through – first on horses and then by wagon. Each time they left behind only that which they no longer wished to carry. They left broken spindles and dried pinto beans and scuffed horseshoes, a trail of useless, forgotten things in their wake.
Stay. A whisper in the dusty breeze. But they never heard the plea.