The next day is much the same as the last—with the excep­tion that this time, Gil is going on three hours of sleep instead of twenty-three.

Once again, Gil and Kiddu march in the far rear, along with Jaruna. But today, Ayan doesn’t join them.

The mys­tic pauses to shoot a wind astra behind him. He looks as hag­gard as Gil feels, like he had been up half the night too.

The dunes soon begin to tower over them, vast waves of sand with per­fectly smooth, slop­ing sides and edged crests. Where the wind is strong, the peaks emit wispy ten­drils that float up into the sky like yel­low smoke. The val­leys between the huge dunes broaden, and the blue-and-tan river of natives spreads out to fill the space.

Gil keeps his dis­tance from Kiddu. Despite their truce, she looks like she’s up to some­thing. Nonethe­less, he’s some­what glad for the forced para­noia, as it helps keep him awake. The desert keeps try­ing to hyp­no­tize him into sleep­walk­ing.

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