Camille

My camelid companion — GiaB prompt #20 animalia

Sharp shards of sand nipped at my face.

I tightened the scarf around my head and neck and sat next to Camille. She was already laying down.

The warm desert wind grew stronger as the sandstorm approached. I rechecked the saddlebags to make sure they were secure. Protect the product.

Camille let out an extended groan — the way camels do when they’re displeased. It was almost inaudible amidst the rushing wind.

“It’s alright, Camille,” I said, resting my head against the base of her neck.

I closed my eyes, remembering the time when Camille and I first found each other.

It was five years ago that I heard a distressing cry in the distance while traversing the North-East African spice trail. I stood on top of a sandy ridge and saw a weak-looking calf barely standing next to her dead mother. I guessed her mother might have died of sleeping sickness. The tsetse flies were particularly bad in those parts at that time of year. I knew the little camel wouldn’t have survived much longer in the unforgiving desert. I had to rescue her.

As I approached, the little dromedary looked at me with big eyes and wobbling legs. I reassured her that everything would be ok and took her over to the caravan of five other camels. Luckily, one of them was still producing milk as she had also calved some months before.

Raising her by hand, little Camille has been by my side ever since.

The wind began to subside as the sandstorm passed. We were not far from our destination. The journey had been long, but it would be worth it. Saffron was like gold to a king and would pay handsomely.

Camille shook the sand from her body. I opened one of the saddle bags and gave her the last of the dried herbs.

“When we reach the city,” I said to her, “I will get you a whole crate of fresh herbs and a brand-new saddle.”

While munching, she let out a grunt of appreciation.

“Come on little Camille, let’s continue our journey.”

Our shadows grew long as the sun dipped lower.

We would reach the city by nightfall.

© Alex Godley | May 2021

Alex is a writer, editor and photographer based in Australia.

This story was inspired by the following GiaB prompt: