Ynant's brow made a furrow. "Are you sure
these are sandback tracks?" she asked.
With a shrug, Killian answered: "Yes, mostly sure," and they continued north.
North: the direction which throughout Killian's young life had usually meant one thing: towards the desert. As they walked they found a number of clear tracks with the three-leaves shape they knew so well from herding the sandbacks around the hill country. He felt they were not far behind the animal now.
They began talking about how to find water in the desert. Ynant told the tale of their oldest brother Sy walking far into the desert to catch his straying eswark mount, only to fall from a cliff and break his leg, and how he survived until rescue came by digging for water in the dry river bed where he lay in pain. And the missing eswark wandered up the gully and found him, attracted to the scent of water. "The animals of Fargale can smell water from miles away," she finished.
"You get most water by digging at the bend in the river," added Killian. Now they had climbed out of the scrublands and the canyons and were drawing closer to the edge of the real desert. If their sandback had any sense, it wouldn't go much further.
Ynant repeated what she'd heard about finding water-bearing rocks, particular kinds which tended to hold water. Not to be outdone, Killian reminded her that water runs downhill and into those porous rocks which let the water through.
"So why doesn't the water run all the way through, deeper and deeper?" Ynant wanted to know.
"I think..." Killian hesitated, stretching the limits of what he knew. "I think there are other rocks underneath the porous ones which won't let the water through. So it's trapped."
They walked on, until they both realised several things at once: they were in the true desert, where there were no trees or bushes, and they could see no grass or flowers, just huge rocky shelves of orange rock scattered with pink dunes. Also, they had both reached that point of tiredness where any excuse to stop and rest is instantly welcome; and thirdly, they both noticed the mushrooming storm clouds in the west at about the same time.
"Look at the sky!" said Ynant, slumping to the ground and dropping her load.
"Dust storm," added Killian, as he joined her. It was true. The clouds of a rain storm tended to grey, but these carried much brown, almost like smoke. "The tracks lead on. What shall we do?"
"I can't go any further," murmured Ynant. "Let's rest, make shelter from the storm."
Killian frowned. If they didn't catch that sandback, would it survive the storm? Or did it have better instincts than they did? "Shouldn't we hurry and catch up with that stupid beast?" he said. He wasn't sure himself. He was too tired to think clearly, and he knew that was dangerous. So he kept on talking, laying out their options. "Or we could turn back and try to get to safety before the storm gets us." He had a feeling the storm could travel faster than they could.
"Mmm," murmured Ynant, busily uncorking a water bottle. They were both thirsty. But as soon as they'd drunk deeply, they had to choose.
What would be their best choice?
Shelter now, and carry on looking after the storm
Carry on tracking the sandback through the storm
Turn back and try to outrun the storm
With a shrug, Killian answered: "Yes, mostly sure," and they continued north.
North: the direction which throughout Killian's young life had usually meant one thing: towards the desert. As they walked they found a number of clear tracks with the three-leaves shape they knew so well from herding the sandbacks around the hill country. He felt they were not far behind the animal now.
They began talking about how to find water in the desert. Ynant told the tale of their oldest brother Sy walking far into the desert to catch his straying eswark mount, only to fall from a cliff and break his leg, and how he survived until rescue came by digging for water in the dry river bed where he lay in pain. And the missing eswark wandered up the gully and found him, attracted to the scent of water. "The animals of Fargale can smell water from miles away," she finished.
"You get most water by digging at the bend in the river," added Killian. Now they had climbed out of the scrublands and the canyons and were drawing closer to the edge of the real desert. If their sandback had any sense, it wouldn't go much further.
Ynant repeated what she'd heard about finding water-bearing rocks, particular kinds which tended to hold water. Not to be outdone, Killian reminded her that water runs downhill and into those porous rocks which let the water through.
"So why doesn't the water run all the way through, deeper and deeper?" Ynant wanted to know.
"I think..." Killian hesitated, stretching the limits of what he knew. "I think there are other rocks underneath the porous ones which won't let the water through. So it's trapped."
They walked on, until they both realised several things at once: they were in the true desert, where there were no trees or bushes, and they could see no grass or flowers, just huge rocky shelves of orange rock scattered with pink dunes. Also, they had both reached that point of tiredness where any excuse to stop and rest is instantly welcome; and thirdly, they both noticed the mushrooming storm clouds in the west at about the same time.
"Look at the sky!" said Ynant, slumping to the ground and dropping her load.
"Dust storm," added Killian, as he joined her. It was true. The clouds of a rain storm tended to grey, but these carried much brown, almost like smoke. "The tracks lead on. What shall we do?"
"I can't go any further," murmured Ynant. "Let's rest, make shelter from the storm."
Killian frowned. If they didn't catch that sandback, would it survive the storm? Or did it have better instincts than they did? "Shouldn't we hurry and catch up with that stupid beast?" he said. He wasn't sure himself. He was too tired to think clearly, and he knew that was dangerous. So he kept on talking, laying out their options. "Or we could turn back and try to get to safety before the storm gets us." He had a feeling the storm could travel faster than they could.
"Mmm," murmured Ynant, busily uncorking a water bottle. They were both thirsty. But as soon as they'd drunk deeply, they had to choose.
What would be their best choice?
Shelter now, and carry on looking after the storm
Carry on tracking the sandback through the storm
Turn back and try to outrun the storm
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