Young Writers Society

It has been months since Jackson last saw clean water. They and their companions were still in the Eastern Sector, meaning there was nothing here but hills and cliffs. The last time the group had seen a village was equally long ago.
Bug was complaining that its gears were getting clogged with ashes at this point, which didn't shock Jackson but it was concerning even so; Jackson could feel their own joints slowing as they walked. It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the wind.
At least they didn't get tired the way Roland did. Jackson was doing their best to pull him along, but he was slowing down with every passing day. He needed food and water, and the rations were running dangerously low.
Shingles, at least, seemed unbothered by anything. He bounded ahead constantly or lagged behind, going his own way and returning hours or days later covered in dust and ash, or sometimes blood. He shuffled along behind Bug now, an empty grin plastered on his stitched face.
"Where are we going again?" Bug demanded, knees creaking.
"North," Jackson said wearily. "There's a haven another week from here, once we're out of the hills. We just have to make it that far."
"I need oil."
"I know. So do I."
"I bet we'd get there faster if we dropped meatsack here." Bug tugged at Roland's shift. "Look at him; he's deadweight!"
"He's an important inventor, as I've explained," Jackson sighed.
"It might be easier if I made my own way," Roland suggested tentatively. "You have no need for rations and yet you carry mine. I could just walk to the village and get there after you."
"No." Jackson shook their head. "You're too fragile; look at all those scratches and scrapes! It's best if we escort you."

(@ChieRynn)

Rhys watched from the edge of a cliff for any sign of movement. Laying on her stomach she peered down into the valleys, the brim of her hat shielding her from the dust and glare.
A few days later, she'd been jumped by a roving band of savages. Though savages was a loose term, anyone able to survive on this barren hellscape could rightly be classified as a savage. Lack of sleep and low rations had caused her to drop her guard for just a moment. Luckily for her they weren't starving enough to cut her to pieces, they simply stole what scraps of food and drops of water she had left, as well as her weapons. The fools hadn't bothered with her boots or clothes, which she absolutely would have taken if she had been in their position. They didn't count on her having a stash nearby. She had traveled this area before and had the sense to cache some supplies in case she came that way again. If it wasn't for a discovery of some unfortunate almost-survivors, she wouldn't have made across these cliffs the first time.
But now she was waiting for those who'd stolen her supplies. She'd found a path along the clifftops, they had gone back down to the valleys, probably to sweep them and find more unsuspecting prey. Her (albeit, rusted, but in the process of being restored) pistols, crossbow, powder, ammunition, blades, papers, a spoon or two and some other miscellaneous items had all been taken.
Voices had been carrying through the valley for the past couple minutes. She hoped it was her robbers, as she had an unpleasant surprise waiting for them. And if not...she may have to turn robber herself.

"I'm not fragile at all," he protested, nearly tripping over a charred log. Jackson caught him, pulling him gently forward by the manacles still locked around his wrists. They had yet to find a smith, and it was a good way of keeping track of the human so he wouldn't wander off, so Jackson just held on to them. "If anything I'm one of the hardiest humans there is. I mean, look at me, Jackson."
"I'm looking at you."
"You look like a sunburned filet in a filthy potato sack." Bug drew its cape closer around itself. "Hiding a glass skeleton."
"I might be a bit more energetic if I had gotten a head start on food," Roland pointed out. "But you found me when I was starving in a dungeon."

The voices were louder. Rhys was unfortunately without a telescope or anything to help her visualize exactly what she was up against, but it likely wouldn't have changed much. The voices were the only things to be heard for miles. She began to move, creeping down through the rocks, her dust covered coat and hat blending in to be nearly the same color as the landscape. She moved through the rocks towards the voices. There was a ledge a bit more than two meters off the ground which would be a good place for an ambush.

Jackson nodded; that was true. Roland was lucky to get out. "You make a good point. But that's all the more reason to stay with us. You need help, human."

She tried to move quickly. She was still nursing some wounds from her attack a few days ago and wasn't as fast as usual. As she moved along, a scarce few pebbles were dislodged by her boot and went skittering down into the valley. She froze, and listened.

Shingles's head snapped toward the ledge, and, still grinning, lumbered off toward it.
Jackson paused as they heard it as well and, seeing Shingles going to investigate, stopped the progress. "Did you hear that?" they whispered, resting their free hand on their sword. Bug turned toward the noise.

Rhys muttered a silent curse and stood completely still. She could tell they overheard and heard more pebbles and dirt become dislodged from the cliffside as one of them moved towards her. She pulled a makeshift dagger from inside her coat and waited. She wouldn't hesitate to cut up a thief if it meant getting her things back; she'd done worse.

"Show yourself, fiend!" Bug called.
Shingles started climbing toward the ledge.

Silently she began to creep towards the overhang, crouched so those below wouldn't see any movement. She could jump down practically on top of them or possibly make it across the narrow pass if the climber proved to be more problematic than some clumsy thief. She peered over the ledge while they looked towards where the sound originally came from. The band looked nothing like the thieves she was after, but perhaps they had some water. Though by the looks of it, only one of them was human, and that one looked poorly, so it was doubtful they had more rations than she, if any.

Shingles was nearly to the top of the ledge now.
"Come on out!" Jackson drew their sword and readied their shield. "We know you're there."

The climber was nearly upon her. She sighed and suddenly sprang up, leaping down from the ledge and into the path of the travelers. She looked up, not amused with having tracked the wrong group of people. But she wasn't about to let them know that.
"Water for a weary traveler?" She had replaced her weapons and appeared bedraggled and unarmed, but watched the ledge above her in case the other fellow decided to jump down on her head.
What a ragtag bunch.

Shingles rolled off the ledge and to his feet, flexing his fingers.
"We don't have any to spare," Jackson said firmly, taking a step back. "Who are you?"

Gods, she was glad she didn't have to face that one on the ledge. She looked at the bot who addressed her.
"A traveller looking for water. And I'll be glad to leave if you're without that resource." Despite access to her stash her water wouldn't last forever

Jackson glanced back at Roland. They'd let go of his handcuffs so he could run if he needed, and he was hanging behind Bug, who was stalking forward.
"Well," Bug snapped, "We don't have any. Are any other people hiding behind you?"