He stared at the brick red fluid drying up on his arms. Then he raised his right arm and took a whiff. Unmistakable, stale iron. He flinched, then looked up and glanced around. Hooded men (women?), maybe ten or twenty of them, sitting around him in a large circle.
They watched him slowly gain awareness behind their veils.
He couldn’t remember the last time water tasted so good. After walking for miles and miles in scorching hot sun he couldn’t even stop to appreciate the wide meadows filled with flowers that he passed along the way to the shop. His mouth was parched, his lips cracked, and all he could do was press on.