The dust cover turns from yel­low to dark orange and then black as the sun sets. Dimly, Gil can see the lines and motions of the sharuq’s cyclone winds slash­ing the air just ahead of the camp.

Jaruna uses his wind astras to whip up the sand into a bul­wark of steep dunes, shield­ing the camp from the bit­ing east­ern wind. The tra­jec­to­ries of the greenish-white arrows glow like fat worms in the dark dust.

Kripa and Hat­van assem­ble their tent word­lessly. Gil and Kiddu duck inside, eager for a respite from the sand­storm winds.

After two nights of stunted sleep and the gru­el­ing march today, Gil is out as soon as he curls up on the ground.

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