Over the seas of red grass, through the clouds of heat, past the forests of silver, the two run. Their robes are drenched with sweat, their shoes are filthy with dirt, their faces are red, their breath is strained. One will pass the other, only for him to fall back.
They push themselves to the brink, their exhaustion claiming them bit by bit. They know that they must stop soon, before they kill themselves.
But for now, they run, letting the pain and exhilaration wash away their sorrows, their fears, their hatreds, and their troubles. Letting themselves be the normal young boys they want to be.
Under the burnt orange sky, in the middle of summer, they run.