Page 67 of On Broken Bonds

Thorian glares.

Fenric grins.

I laugh.

And then, without warning, autumn ends. There is no gradual transition. No thinning of trees. No shift in climate. One moment we're walking through a forest. The next, we're standing at the edge of a something new and surprising.

I stop so abruptly that Fenric nearly walks into me.

Sand stretches as far as I can see. Towering cacti rise from the dunes, many larger than houses. Heat shimmers in the distance, warping the landscape.

I glance back over my shoulder. The forest still stands behind us, ending in a perfectly straight line where the desert begins.

"What in the world?" I breathe.

I've never seen anything like this before.

“It’s a desert,” Thorian explains. “It’s dry and harsh, but pretty in its own way.”

A desert. I've read about them, of course. Seen drawings. Heard travelers describe them. But none of that compares to standing before one.

"The stream," Thorian says.

Fenric follows his gaze and nods. "We'll need every drop we can carry."

While Thorian remains at the edge of the sand, watching for danger, Fenric and I hurry back through the trees. The stream burbles along as though nothing about this place is strange. We refill every canteen we have in silence before putting them back in the pack.

When we return, Thorian gives each of us a quick once-over before his gaze settles on the endless desert again.

For the first hour, I'm fascinated. The sand gleams like gold in the sunlight. Strange flowers bloom from the sides of the cacti. Tiny lizards dart between rocks. The sky seems impossibly large without the canopy overhead.

It's unlike anything I've ever seen.

Back home, the world is green. Forests. Fields. Rivers. Here, the landscape stretches endlessly in every direction, vast and open in a way that makes me feel very small. Every dune reveals another beyond it. Every rise promises something new, only to reveal more sand.

Even Fenric and Thorian seem different beneath the relentless sun.

Fenric removes his shirt and tosses it over his shoulder, exposing a broad chest already glistening with sweat. The copper curls at his temples are damp, sticking to his skin. Every so often, he drags a hand through his hair and mutters about how much he hates the heat, despite looking as though he belongs in some painting depicting a heroic warrior crossing the wilderness.

Which is a thoroughly inconvenient observation.

Thorian fares better, though only slightly. His leather armor remains firmly in place despite the temperature. Sweat darkens the fabric in places, clinging to the powerful lines of his body. The short sleeves expose muscle that shifts beneath tanned skin whenever he moves.

I catch myself staring.

Unfortunately, I catch myself staring just as Thorian catches me staring. One corner of his mouth twitches. Heat floods my face so quickly that it’s obvious it has nothing to do with the desert.

I immediately redirect my attention toward a cactus. The cactus is fascinating. Absolutely riveting.

By the time I risk looking back, Fenric is openly amused, and Thorian is giving me a look that suggests he knows exactly what happened despite not having witnessed any of it.

Then the sun climbs higher and so does the temperature.

The dry air scrapes my throat raw. Sweat sticks my clothes to my skin. Sand finds its way into my boots, my sleeves, my hair, and places I didn't know sand could reach. Every hour or so, we stop long enough to take a careful mouthful from one of the canteens before passing it to the next person. No one drinks more than they have to. No one complains.

Before long, the wonder wears off, replaced by a growing misery.

By the time we finally emerge from the desert, I could happily spend the rest of my life never seeing another grain of sand.