III.

Eyes closed tight with a heated effort against the sand.

There was always the sand, mocking. Coaxing. Promising.

The need to sleep had long ago been replaced with a dim weighted fire, somewhere between his head and his bare feet.

He recalled a time when the fur there was neat, glossy black over green toes, a tiny bit of pride.

Where was pride now?

Surely, it did not come from the bloody collection of blisters that had once been called toes.

Or his fur, now nothing but a shadow of grey with the sand and sun.

No, no, his pride was not a shallow thing anymore, that had gone along with his title a weeks' journey ago.

The colors that had been some silent marker against any who dared mock a clothed chimpanzee, the blues and purples he'd somewhere secretly held so dear...

They were gone.

White.

His tattered cape, a crowning turban without any bobbles.

White and simple, without any of the dyes marking royalty.

What use was a title now?

Yes, yes, if anything would be done, it would be done by Jojo.

The weight in his body swam for the smallest of moments up toward his head, stopping in its route to make the traveler gag.

Realization tasted of a thin trail of vomit and a cleansing splash of wasted water rations.

So it had come to this.

Asking this of..them.

Them of all the people, of all the creatures!

His brilliant mind, his great plans, all worthless now, maybe forever …

No, no, not forever.

The small figures' pacing mind added new vigor to his heavy legs, driving them onward, ever onward...

Toward a faint rose perfume...toward...Townsville..yes..toward...