“Once you do this, you can never go back, understand,” Gregor explained, stoic and solemn, “Tenerent must be able to prepare for what is coming.” He was being completely earnest in his statement about the dangers of this journey, but also how it would change Rodi in the process. Rodi looked at the old man, wise in his old age. Something about his demeanor struck fear into Rodi as he contemplated asking not to make the trek through the desert.

Aside from exposure, Gregor had explained the dangers of great beasts which roamed the badlands and the dangers associated with returning home. There were many threats which he would have to face along the way, all of which could and would kill a man who was unprepared to take them on. Rodi slung the pack which had been filled mostly with full water skins and dried meat, and hefted his short spear and bow. He needed to pack light and move quickly if he had any substantial chance of surviving the ordeal.

Rodi departed his ancestral home of Dranzi and made for the long desert, intent on getting to his destination before the soldiers made up the distance going the long way. He had to warn their neighboring allies of the imminent threat which had decimated their homeland and left little more than a smoking ruin of most cities. He knew they would arrive at the farm as soon as he crossed over into the badlands, but he fought the urge to turn back and fight.

Barren hardpan dirt stretched as far as his vision allowed him to see, distorted by the wavering heat. Dry brush poked out and tried to survive in the arid climate, but failed. Tumbleweed rolled across his path in the breeze and came to rest against a rock. Rodi opened his pack and took a swig of water, lightening his load but also shortening his water supply. He was aware the dangers of trying to ration water, but also timid to use all of his supply too quickly. He returned the water to the pack and took a furtive look back along his path to see if he was being followed. Not yet.

Turning back toward his destination, he squinted against the blazing sun and spotted a fox as it darted between covers, avoiding being in the direct sun just as Rodi was unable to do. He trudged on. Remnants of long-dead animals were littered here and there as a reminder of the dangers he faced, the bones bleached to a light tan. He heard a soft noise to his left and turned. A coyote stood frozen stiff as it was discovered tracking Rodi, waiting for him to collapse from exhaustion and unwilling to attack while he was strong. The way of the desert.

Hours dragged on and he found himself in the cold dark of night. The brush served as firewood for him and he made the best of it, hardly getting a wink as he tried to rest for the night. He awoke in the morning, the sun shining on his face, and took stock of his surroundings.

Little has changed from the day before as he looked around. Rodi spotted a mesa ahead with a visible waterfall from the top, and he made toward the fresh water. He expended a few hours getting to the base of the formation and began to search for the stream. A trickle fell on the desert floor and quickly disappeared as the heat evaporated what little made it to the bottom. Rodi quickly filled his skins and moved on; he had no time to waste.

After filling his water supply, he stopped only to camp when it got dark and resolved to start walking again before the sun rose. His skin burned to the touch and he could feel it peeling, so he covered himself and slept as well as he could after wetting some dirt to coat his arms and neck in mud to help his burning arms and to ease the pain with the cool moisture.

The moon was high as he woke and packed his gear, eating some jerky as he walked, shivering against the cold. His breath puffed out in front of him in tiny clouds as the moisture dissipated into the otherwise dry air. He muttered a silent thanks that the moon was up to illuminate his path forward and he did not need to carry a torch.

The darkness sharpened his senses and he was aware of all sounds and smells which surrounded him, keen to detect any danger. Tiny rodents darted around in the dark between their burrows to find food, but trying to avoid the owls which Rodi could see perched on the high branches of the dry, dead trees. He followed the moon as it described its setting path across the sky and the sun began her slow ascent, illuminating the land before she was visible. Thankful for the warmth she brought, Rodi was anxious to reach Tenerent and end his errand, though he knew his ordeal would be far from over.

News of the savage hoards had reached Dranzi before they had, but it was too late to stop the pillaging and destruction that they brought. Gregor saw the need to warn Tenerent before anyone else, and so sent his grandson on that errand.

Rodi was prepared in his own mind, but as he reached the halfway point of his journey, he knew that nothing could have prepared him for what he would face, or the mental strength he would need to continue on his journey. He was hungry and thirsty like he had never been before, and yet he knew that eating or drinking would likely make him sick. The feeling of emptiness made every step a monument to his determination. As the days passed into night and he walked on, he lost track of his progress.

The coyotes began to circle, greater in number now than before as he grew weaker and weaker. He pulled his bow and shot one. It fell and the others scattered, leaving Rodi alone for a while.

Just as the coyotes returned, the gleaming towers of Tenerent came into view wavering in the heat. He summoned the last of his dwindling strength and ran. The dogs were on his heels as he flew toward the city, but he paid them no heed. Nearer and nearer he drew to the city until he saw a man on the wall draw his own bow and let an arrow fly. It fell short of the pack, plunging into the dirt to Rodi’s right, but it was followed by many friends as the other guards began shooting as well.

When Rodi reached the gate in the wall, he stopped and turned. No coyotes followed him, but two horsemen continued to charge him. The doors opened and he cried “Take them down!”

Without any delay, the sound of bowstrings met his ears and he watched as the two figures on horseback fell, pierced by many arrows.

Rodi was dragged into an officer’s room and given water, which he drank ravenously before vommitting most of it back up.

The officer looked at him hunched over the pail and asked “What brings a young man across the desert from Dranzi, chased by soldiers from who-knows-where?”

Rodi looked up at him and tried to answer, but let out another torrent of regurgitated water before he could get words out. “They are coming in force,” he began.