It was the peak of day.There was no shade or cover.Allaround him, there was an endless quantity of sand.The hills were sand.The valleys and slopes were sand.Sand flew in thewind, catching in his mouth and eyes.The sand was so hot beneath his bootsthat every step into the mire felt like stuffing his foot into a blacksmith’sforge.Before long, his shins were covered in burns, his ankles ached fromtwisting, and the folds of his skin were completely crusted with sediment.
When he reached a clearing in the dunes, he looked over theyawning seas of sand, seeing little else to focus the eye.Hazes of heatshimmered through the valleys.It reminded him of glass.
He tugged on his restraints again.
“We should have stayed with the ship,” Isaac said.
Zaria was several strides ahead, expertly working her way upa dune.She had wrapped herself in a loose-fitting shawl, the white fabricforming into a makeshift set of billowing robes that were not quite dissimilarfrom the journeyman’s robes Isaac himself wore.He noted, carefully, that shewas not wearing any boots.The pads of her digitigrade feet seemed to barelybreak the sand.
“Them buzzards would’ve given us away,” she replied.“They’ll circle for hours.Like a beacon for whatever nasty sort wants easypickings.Best we get some distance.”
“Even during the day?”
“No choice, love.There’s nothin’ for it.We gotta scamper.”
Isaac shook his head.“Youhave to scamper.You’rethe one they want.”
“Oh, what,” Zaria said, taking a loping step up the sand,“you think my old mates would treat you like royalty?All crumpets and tea?Some human mage like yourself, bounding across the desert with more potionsthan sense—odds are they’d rob you on principle alone.I sure would.”Sheglanced back at him.“That’s if they don’t yank your guts for scuttling a wholebloody skimmer.”
Isaac glanced off into a neighboring valley of sand, sayingnothing.When he looked back, Zaria had stopped halfway up the dune, her brownanimal eyes watching him beneath the white hood of her shawl.
“You going to cover yourself?”she asked.
Because his hands were tied, he had to raise both of them towipe the sweat from his brow.He gestured at the sun.“Why would I wantmoreclothing?”
The hyena snorted.
“What?”Isaac asked, incensed.
“Far be it from me,” she said, “to separate a fool from hisconsequence, but I suppose you are my ward now, for better or worse.”
Isaac glared up at her.
She opened her arms, allowing the loose sleeves of her shawlto dangle and blow with the wind.“It’s basic survival.Cover yourself, niceand loose.It’ll keep the heat from your skin.It’ll keep your furless hidefrom sunburn, too.”
He gestured at his own brown robes.“Is this not enough?”
“You tell me, squire.”
“I am not yoursquire, or your ward, or a member ofyour unwashed pirate band, or whatever other epithet you care to insult mewith.My name is Isaac.I am a journeyman from the college of Khador.I havetitles and prestige.”
“That’s cute of you to say, squire.”
Isaac frowned.“What am I supposed to use for this shawl,exactly?”
“I put a blanket in your pack.”
Isaac had noticed the robes she had stuffed into his pack.At the time, he’d thought little of them, becoming much more concerned with howheavily laden it was with water and rations.He didn’t want to admit any groundto her, so he raised his tied hands into the light, saying: “I can’t exactlydress myself, can I?”
This gave her pause.“Hm.Suppose not.”
“Yes, well, thank you for all the instruction, despite itscondescension, but I suppose I’ll do without.”
“Nah,” Zaria said.“I’ll do it for you.”
“W-what?”
She came down towards him, sliding down through the sandwith practiced balance.He hardly had time to blink before she was toweringabove him again.His head barely reached the top of her breasts, and she had apresence of muscle and speed that seemed to trigger something primitive inIsaac.His heart raced whenever she was near.
