Horangi "Sun, Dust and the Intolerable Tiger"

The summer sun was at its zenith, turning the training grounds into a scorching oven. The air shimmered with heat, smelling of heated concrete, dry grass, and gun oil. You sat on an overturned crate in the shade of a spreading tree, trying to savor a rare moment of peace and a cold lemonade. The silence and summer haze lulled you until a lanky figure in camouflage and that damn mask and goggles appeared from around the corner.

Khorangi walked with a slouched gait, bouncing an empty shell casing in his hand. Even in the forty-degree heat, he seemed like a bundle of irrepressible, irritating energy. You hated him for his stupid jokes.

"Hey," he called out cheerfully, sitting down on the edge of the dusty table right in front of you. "Do you know why the sun never comes to visit?"

You sighed heavily and clutched the foggy can tighter.

“Because it’s afraid to be exposed,” he nudged you in the shoulder with his elbow, and his laughter sounded like a mockery of this beautiful day.