The scenery didn't change as much now, and Howl was left to wander an endless desert not unlike the one he'd grown up in, but as unfamiliar as Coerthas had been to him at first. Something was changing; he felt more and more tired, yet more and more compelled to wander, unable to sit still, even to rest his aching body, and thirst stabbed him now like graters taken to the soft tissue of his digestive tract.
It was somewhat funny how the prison adapted to whatever was happening to his body. He would search for water in places he knew it would be - hidden wells, crevasses in rock, inserting stiles into cacti. Each time, either there was no water where there should be, or the water was fouled in some way so that despite his thirst - thirst he was well aware was killing him, if it was real and not just another illusion of this strange place - he couldn't drink it. He wasn't hungry at all, and he felt no real need for sleep, but his body ached with a nameless exhaustion, the weariness you get when you have a high fever yet lie awake burning.
It was really then that he understood that the prison was killing him, slowly and surely, moment by moment. Even so, he couldn't really feel afraid, or interested. Emotions felt malms removed from his situation. There was just the next dune, the next rocky ridge, the next bit of shade or warmth to attain, the next place where there might be water. He was aware he would likely never find it, but he had to keep moving anyway, so he might as well try.
He was dimly aware that he should never give up. There was someone who would be sad if he gave up - he was pretty sure of that, anyway.
Sometimes the voices came again, but they seemed dimmer and dimmer each time. Warren's voice sounded most often. Whenever he thought he could hear that distant baritone rumble, he would stop walking and lift his head, as if Warren were in the sky somewhere. He'd reach, strain, with his entire body and mind, trying to probe or push at whatever enchantment was holding him. Sometimes he thought he could see something else, something laid superimposed on the desert sky, a dark place lit only by a single flame. Whatever Warren was saying usually made no sense to him, but some phrases came through. The Ossuary, and Snow, and poison, and promise after promise to save him.
Of course Warren would save him. If he couldn't, Howl reasoned in his enchantment-addled way, either it was impossible, or Howl himself had to find a way out from within the prison. Both seemed equally likely, and equally acceptable.
Wait, no. He couldn't think that way. Someone was counting on him to find a way out.
But the voice always stopped before he was ready, and then he was alone again. He dug in his heels and kept walking. Water, or Warren, or some sort of way out. He would find something eventually if he just kept looking.
It was somewhat funny how the prison adapted to whatever was happening to his body. He would search for water in places he knew it would be - hidden wells, crevasses in rock, inserting stiles into cacti. Each time, either there was no water where there should be, or the water was fouled in some way so that despite his thirst - thirst he was well aware was killing him, if it was real and not just another illusion of this strange place - he couldn't drink it. He wasn't hungry at all, and he felt no real need for sleep, but his body ached with a nameless exhaustion, the weariness you get when you have a high fever yet lie awake burning.
It was really then that he understood that the prison was killing him, slowly and surely, moment by moment. Even so, he couldn't really feel afraid, or interested. Emotions felt malms removed from his situation. There was just the next dune, the next rocky ridge, the next bit of shade or warmth to attain, the next place where there might be water. He was aware he would likely never find it, but he had to keep moving anyway, so he might as well try.
He was dimly aware that he should never give up. There was someone who would be sad if he gave up - he was pretty sure of that, anyway.
Sometimes the voices came again, but they seemed dimmer and dimmer each time. Warren's voice sounded most often. Whenever he thought he could hear that distant baritone rumble, he would stop walking and lift his head, as if Warren were in the sky somewhere. He'd reach, strain, with his entire body and mind, trying to probe or push at whatever enchantment was holding him. Sometimes he thought he could see something else, something laid superimposed on the desert sky, a dark place lit only by a single flame. Whatever Warren was saying usually made no sense to him, but some phrases came through. The Ossuary, and Snow, and poison, and promise after promise to save him.
Of course Warren would save him. If he couldn't, Howl reasoned in his enchantment-addled way, either it was impossible, or Howl himself had to find a way out from within the prison. Both seemed equally likely, and equally acceptable.
Wait, no. He couldn't think that way. Someone was counting on him to find a way out.
But the voice always stopped before he was ready, and then he was alone again. He dug in his heels and kept walking. Water, or Warren, or some sort of way out. He would find something eventually if he just kept looking.
People have forgotten this truth. But you mustn't forget it. You become responsible forever for what you have tamed.
Howl's Wiki
Howl's Wiki