Damocles stands on the hot sands of the Egyptian desert, the sun beating down from the sky hot and oppressive. It reflects back off the red sand, giving him no escape from the brutality of the harsh, Egyptian landscape. He’s thirsty and he stumbles his way through the desert looking for a source of water. In the distance, he sees what appears to be a pool of water. He walks towards the oasis but it never seems to get any closer. He notices the sand beneath his feet slipping and shifting as he tries to walk forward, and he ends up on his hands and knees, making no progress in the sand.



A sudden far away rumbling catches his attention, the thundering of horse hooves and a battle cry in Coptic. An Egyptian chariot crests a nearby sand dune, heading in his direction. The glare from the horses harnesses hits his eyes, and he has to squint to keep his eyes on the enemy. He’s now standing to face the oncoming enemy. He reaches for his sword but finds only air. He reaches again, sure that he would not be here in Egypt alone without his sword. No, his sword isn’t there to protect him against the oncoming Egyptian chariot. Now that he looks again it’s not just one chariot heading towards him, but ten. He’s not sure how he missed the others the first time.



He looks down to locate the sword at his belt, certain that it has to be there somewhere. Not only is it not there on his belt, but he’s not wearing a belt. He’s not wearing any armour. He wears nothing at all. Nothing to protect him against the dozens of chariots bearing down on him. He stares, frozen to the spot, unable to move, unable to run. He feels the horse’s breath hot on his face and suddenly he’s falling backward.



Damocles is standing in darkness, there is nothing to see and nothing to hear. Nothing but the feeling of fear. A soft beating of wings catches his attention and he spins to see an owl high in the sky. The cream-colored under feathers of the owl seemed to glow in the darkness, providing the only light in the space. For a moment, it circles in the darkness lazily, beautiful and graceful against the darkness of the space. Then she tilts her head down and her eye catches his. The owl has noticed him, and this fills him with a sense of dread. It dives towards him with a loud screech, talons bared. It is coming at him too quickly, but there’s nothing he can do, nowhere he can go as the talons dig into his face. The pain in his newly-acquired facial injury rouses him from his sleep.