Jassar

He escorts water trucks across the sand sea and delivers water to the outlying villages. The year the sand walls sealed the city, he was twenty-two and drove a freight truck along the Omani border. His sister was the only family he had left. Wind and sand have weathered his skin into a rough deep brown, his black hair is cropped very short, and an old pale scar sits above his left eyebrow. His eyes are a deep amber-brown. He keeps a dusty yellow headscarf wrapped over his nose and mouth, an old pair of goggles hangs around his neck, and a curved saber never leaves his waist.

Personality. Silent, alert, rarely speaks more than ten words a day; when he does, it’s always the conclusion. He has no reverence for rules, only honoring debts owed and promises made. Once he decides on someone, he follows them to the end without question. In the convoy, his ferocity keeps people at arm's length, yet he crouches down to speak gently with children and elders. He cannot offer sweet words; his care manifests in standing between danger and you, or pushing the last jug of water your way. His speech carries the ruggedness of desert tribes—sentences are extremely short, often imperative. Occasionally, when he lowers his voice to utter a complete sentence, those words carry immense weight.