A lone rider, scorched- burning desire, passion, and pain drive him. There's nothing left for him to run on but guts, and balls forged of brass. Blazing a trail of dust beneath the sun and azure skies, as the engine whines happily, it's internal organs working together in perfect harmony (for once), running better than it ever has before. A phantom of the plains, he runs for the sake of running; unable to remember whether he was running from or towards anything at the beginning. The here and now is all that matters- running purely for the sake of running. Endless movement beneath the blistered, burning, hurt sun lo these many endless measured units of time (how long it is not recalled, known, or cared for), has caused his skin to become weathered, worn, and leather'd. On the rarity that another soul's path is crossed, the rider is forgotten and dismissed almost as quickly as he may have been seen, for the local denizens of the hardened earth, he would be nothing more than just another soul on the lost highways of this cursed landscape. There is no paved asphalt ribbon here, just the packed earth of a thousand pilgrims, pioneers, and damned souls moving along in the veiled illusions of a broken promise, wasted hope, and lost future. So he rides this trail, upon his devil machineries, purely for the sake of movement; after all what else is there when there is nothing left to lose? What may be unknown, but by those who have had the rarest of opportunity to look deep into his eyes, is that his tormentors have not defeated him. He is not just another lost soul. There is still but an ember, glowing deep down within the farthest reaches. In the belly of him, there is still spirit. Truly, he has not yet been beaten down; though haunted to be sure, these demons and devils have not broken him. Not completely. Perhaps even he is not fully cognoscente of this, perhaps it is nothing more than the purest primal, animal instinct that drives him across the plains, but the solitary ember still glows; so well buried, so well protected from those demon tormentors, that he himself may not even know it is there to save him from drowning in the sorrows of broken hope and soured dreams. The ember is the ragged edged and tattered remnants of love. It would be, eventually, the one tool that brings salvation- the one that saves him. If it doesn't destroy him...