By the time the sun had climbed near its zenith, its light was no longer soft and golden, but harsh and glaring, bouncing off the desert stone with an almost blinding force. The air itself felt heavy, each breath dry enough to parch the throat, each step like dragging a burden. But Luke and Ilyrana pressed forward, and at last, before the heat could wring the strength out of them, the familiar silhouette of their next resting spot came into view.
A shelf of stone jutted from the hillside, its shadow sprawling across the sand like a sanctuary. The rock had clearly been worn smooth by wind and sand over the years, a natural alcove carved by time and the elements, deep enough to hold them, Vartha, and whatever small camp they needed to make.
