The swiftly approaching sunset was difficult on the courier's eyes. In the ten years he'd spent running across this desert again and again, one would think he'd have developed a tolerance, if nothing else.

But no. I still hate this damned place as much as it hates me. 

As if in answer to his thoughts, a gust of wind pushed against him, hot and dry and heavy enough almost to be solid. Sand came in almost a single sheet to strike him. His tarqhan took most of the grains, but some slipped through. Those would undoubtedly itch come nightfall. His eyes slid back and forth over the terrain, searching for the oasis that, according to the maps, should have been near. No trees. That wasn't good. He was running out of water. He wouldn't be able to go much longer without it.

He might even be lost, though that wasn't likely. His instincts were seldom wrong, and they said he was close to water. And even if this was one of those times, all he had to do was wait until the stars came out. From there, righting his path was just a matter of—

His camel made a disgruntled sound as its footing pitched and nearly sent him tumbling with it to the sand. As it was, he fell to one knee, holding onto it for stability. There was a joke there, somewhere, but he was too hot to contemplate it. He looked up at the animal with a baleful glare. It stared back, chewing, it appeared, on nothing. He muttered a curse and stood—

Hm? He'd seen… a glint, just now, perhaps? He moved a few steps to the right, to the edge of balance, and... 

There. A reflective surface, perhaps a hundred strides west. Water.

The courier had checked the area surrounding the oasis, and rechecked it, and still was ill at ease. He could not explain why, even to himself, but again, his instincts led him wrong only seldom.

Still, the water from the spring had no foul smell or taste, and his camel took it as well as he did. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the Khelles took on its nightly chill. A gibbous moon reared from the east, washing the desert in grey. Insects began to scurry free from their hiding places, from under rocks and sand, coming out to feed in the darkness.

He too, having rested, set off again, westbound. Perhaps he had left too soon, but he believed he would feel better the further he got from the oasis.

The town he was looking for—though it couldn't have been much of a town in this arid patch of nowhere, so far from the Rashi Cities—was close by now; one more oasis and his map said he should reach it. It was no wonder the locals had sent a hawk—well, a desert owl, in truth—to ask for his services. His reputation having preceding him to this end of civilization was both flattering and suspect, and the latter far more than the former.

He crested no rises in his night journeys. The hot air that stayed still in the valleys between dunes would rise quickly enough. That there were no towns did not mean bandits were not to be found, and the courier, like most, had had nothing good with those sorts.

A hunting owl sailed silently above. The courier, incongruously, flinched at the sight. The bird suddenly dropped like a stone out of his sight. He heard a single squeak, quickly stifled, most likely by the crushing of the throat of whatever poor animal had found itself prey to the bird.

The courier only then became aware of a slowly spreading dread that had pooled in the pit of his stomach and seemed to be growing heavier, little by little, with each step. What the hell? He was gripping the camel's tether far too strongly. With an effort he let it go, then turned in a full circle around. He held his breath, listening to the rustle of sand over sand.

Nothing.

The courier exhaled, slowly, silently. Then he took the reins of his steed and began walking off again.