It always felt like he was so close to reaching the water. Just one more step or move and he would be there. Perhaps as some sick punishment, he could never quite reach the water to drink from its depths. Worse yet, the water was never there in the first place.
The water was a mirage, cast to trick anyone watching. Poor lizard never knew any better. But who would cast such a sick spell in the middle of the desert? An evil spellcaster sat close by, always watching. His own personal spectacle to oversee, twisting his version of joy.
The spellcaster sat among his treasures. He used them to enchant curses, such as the endless search for water he placed upon the lizard. His motives were unknown. Some say he had been worshipped too long, and the power to his head made him go mad. Others said the knife he held had scarred him many years ago, tarnishing his good nature. All that was known was his current state. There was nothing else he would share with anyone.
There was nothing else that he could.
