Dal Shabet

Amos lay flat on the sand, arms and legs outstretched, gazing at the sky. He remained in this trance for a while, not thinking about anything, and then his eyes widened, and his hand darted to his chest. Fortunately, the small pouch was still hanging under his clothes on his neck, and the coins, it seemed, hadn't even gotten wet. He sighed with relief, and his exhausted hand fell back onto the sand. He lay there for a little longer.
"How good that I managed to take off."
He turned his head in different directions, looking at the sand, some bodies, and red stains everywhere, including on his clothes.
"It's been a long time since I've seen my own blood. Maybe twenty years? Damn it. If I get out of here alive, I'll go back home to the depths of Duran and never leave again. And what was I hoping to find on this voyage? Diamonds? The dead don't need them."
Zelig tried to sit up, but couldn't. Muttering under his breath, he, without getting up from the sand, rolls his body back an hour.