The shade was familiar.
It rose out of the barren plain like a stranded tooth—an ancient slab of black stone leaning awkwardly against the side of a low ridge. It wasn't much, but it was enough to catch the moonlight and cast a long wedge of darkness, and in this wasteland, that counted as luxury.
Vartha slowed as they neared it, her powerful shoulders heaving, paws dragging just slightly in the sand. Luke felt the tension ease from her muscles, the way her gait softened into a slow walk, and then—finally—she stopped.
The silence around them was so profound that Luke almost thought he could hear his own blood.
They had been here before. A stopping place on their way in. Back then, it had been nothing more than a dot on their mapless route, just another shaded rock to shield them from the sun's anger. Now, it felt like a sanctuary.
Luke slid off first, boots crunching faintly in the sand. His legs wobbled from hours of riding.
