Can anyone critique the prologue of my short story I am writing
Hello, I have just written this short prologue and have intentions of continuing into a short story, this is my first piece of writing and would appreciate any help.
Thanks
Prologue
Sand. Sand was all he thought about. Sand replaced the hair on his face and dark leather of his coat; sand filled his black engineer boots, grating against his pale flesh. The man, a sole speck on a vast rolling plain, nothing but a lone star a dark night's sky.
The man had once had a name, but the memory was almost lost to him as if it were a life 1000 years before. As he walked on through the seemingly endless wasteland, he considered the distance he had travelled. He supposed he had walked about 150 miles over the 3 days since he had departed. Looking back, he watched as the gentle wind covered his tracks. the sand, an ever-flowing golden river, always shifting and never content.
He could no longer see the home he had left or hear the familiar sounds of the cattle which his family had relied upon. He had left the house, and the cattle, just as he had left the shallow grave of his wife and unborn child. His wife had been 27, only 5 years younger than himself, and she had Soley occupied his thoughts for the first 2 days and nights of his journey. The man was heavy with grief and carried the blame for her death like an iron chain around his ankle.
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6 men, drifters all, had come to his farm drunk and demanding that he saddle them with good mounts in exchange for a price below what he himself had paid for the 4 Mares they had selected, when he refused, the youngest of the group, no more than 19 years, drew his pistol and fired, scarcely missing the man and startling the mount he was sitting on causing her to rear on her hind legs throwing him off. Rising quickly, he drew and fired twice. Catching one man square in the forehead and another high in the chest. Before he could turn to face the other men, he felt the hard impact of the stock of a rifle to his temple.
When he awoke, the 4 mares were gone, and his cattle had been driven off into the plains. His barn and farmhouse had both been set alight, blazing like an unnatural sunrise in the dark of night.
The man stood above the charred carcass of what was once his wife and wept for he knew he was to blame, he knelt and cried until the rising sun grew too hot on his back he could kneel no longer.
He set off in the direction of the 4 remaining drifters after burying his wife and covering the grave in a cairn of large stones to prevent scavengers from digging it up. As he walked by the two dead men, he watched a large buzzard tear into the flesh of the young outlaw, and he felt no pity, only regret.
