“The dunes are too quiet,” he mutters.
“No insects. No wind. No small creatures,” Travnyk says, nodding.
“It is because of the poison.” I swallow. “It is killing more than we realize.”
“Or,” Tomas says, voice cracking, “because there is something big up ahead and everything else is hiding.”
“Fear without purpose weakens the group,” Rakkh says, shooting him a look sharp enough to cut him in half.
Tomas shuts up immediately. I walk ahead, following the trail deeper into the valley between two dunes. Rakkh falls into step with me—slightly ahead, slightly angled, always blocking the direction danger feels strongest.
“Do not hover,” I murmur, trying to pretend my heart is not beating too fast because of him.
He does not answer, but he sways his tail closer, deliberately brushing my boot. Heat flares under my skin. Did he just smile?
The trail widens. The sand shifts in strange patterns. Ahead, the moons catch something else—something stark against the sand. A patch of dead brush. Blackened. Desiccated. And beyond it—my breath stutters.
A skeletal creature sprawls, half-buried in the dunes. Larger than the carok. Much larger. Ribs like curved blades. Legs twisted. Hide rotted away, leaving streaks of soot-black flesh. Travnyk curses under his breath. Tomas stumbles backward. Rakkh walks straight toward it.
I follow, the sickly smell punching me in the gut. It is worse than the carok. Older, maybe, but just as wrong. I crouch, pushing back the sand around the creature’s side. The flesh underneath crumbles—peeling like charred skin.
“Same pattern,” I whisper. “Internal decay. Chemical poisoning. But this one is…”
Travnyk kneels on the other side. “Much larger.”
Rakkh stands over me, his shadow covering the entire carcass.
“Whatever poisoned this,” Rakkh murmurs, “it spreads quickly. Faster than the carok.”
I nod tightly. “And across species. That means?—”
“Water,” Rakkh finishes. “It is moving through the water under the sand.”
A chill unlike any predator’s shadow runs through me. Yes. That is exactly what it means.
“We need to move,” I say. “This is getting worse the closer we get.”
“And the stalker follows,” Rakkh says, his gaze flicking to the dunes to our right.
I jerk my head to look in time to see the sands shift—the faintest ripple.
“I thought… I thought you stopped it!” Tomas yelps.
Rakkh gives him a look that is both incredulous and dismissive at the same time.
“It retreated. Besides, that was only one,” Rakkh growls. “No doubt there are more.”
“Of course there are,” I mutter, because the alternative is letting the panic choke me.
Rakkh tilts his head toward me, and something like amusement sparks there. Brief. Sharp. Gone too fast.
“Your humor is ill-timed,” he murmurs.
“It keeps me from screaming.”
“Then keep using it.”
The unexpected softness in his voice almost melts my knees. Travnyk looks between us with a glint of amusement hidden behind tusks. The wind picks up, shifts direction, and brings with it a new smell. Sharp. Metallic. No rot this time. Rakkh inhales deeply, nostrils flaring. Travnyk’s hand goes to the hilt of his blade.
