The whole tribe ran, a wardrum beat filling their hearts with bravery. Dozens of stomping, heavy steps crashed into the earth with a single rhythm and kicked up vast clouds of sand. Carrying spears, clubs, axes. Tamed hyenas rushed alongside them, eager for a taste.

The beast was surprisingly fast. Its whole body was a single wriggling muscle, propelling it forward on a death march through the desert. The pain of the parasites in its skull was blinding. The sun was bleeding away the slime that covered its smooth grey body. It had no idea why it was here, what was driving it to climb from its comfortable den in the earth, to crawl across the earth and under the open sky.

It only knew it had to.

Hunter and hunted were alike, in a sense. The goblins were an old people. They had been born to war, to the beat of a drum. Wild-Eye said they were the gods’ chosen soldiers. Shiny knew it was true as she ran with the pack. All her thoughts were fading, drowning under the beat, replaced by the simple confidence that her own limbs knew the way, that the brothers and sisters on all sides shared her heart and her fury.

Together. A dozen feet hit the ground.

Together. Her head lifted and she howled, and was surprised to realize the whole tribe was screaming with her. A single hateful warcry fed by a dozen throats.

Dust billowed up, kicked by the runners ahead. It stung her eyes but she kept them open. She had to see. All around her were brothers and sisters, wild in their fury, beautiful in their wiry speed. They hunted with one heart. They always had. Always would.

The world was a mirage of red dust, and the shimmering heat that rose from the earth below made the air twist uncertainly. The sound was a thunder split by shrieking war-chants, by the thrum of the drummer behind, being pushed along on a thin sled as he struck a beat that sung to the tune of a goblin heart. In that moment-

She saw the dead. She saw the faces of lost companions - Saw-Tooth, Bumble-Ass, Half-Hand - and heard other instruments join the drum, heard the sounding of horns carved from boar-tusk and the rattle of bone-bells. The world came alive. There was rain. She saw past the ghosts of her own tribe and into the ghost of the world, the world that had been rich with green fields. She ran faster, knowing that if she stopped the moment would end, wanting to see with her own eyes as the sky turned a deep and beautiful shade of blue she could never see - never except when she ran with the tribe and heard the war-drums.

Shiny had been chosen for the gods to see these things, and she only wished she knew what she was chosen for.

She was at the head of the pack, somehow. She’d never run so fast. Her spear knew its goal and her arm knew the arc of the throw.

Her mind seemed to lag behind her body, surprised to see the weapon fly through the air and pierce the snail’s sluggy flesh. Yellow blood bubbled and boiled from the wound, and more spears were following, slowing it down. The real assault came in the form of hook-nosed harpoons, each trailing a corded rope. It took two goblins, one to hold the rope, one to throw the clumsy harpoon. Both had to be among the strongest in the tribe.

The beast was huge, but they were relentless. Harpoons lanced into its side and held fast, caught in the slime and meat of its body. As the ropes dragged out taut, and goblins holding them were pulled through the sand, the spearman at the front fell back to grab hold of a line and throw their weight against the beast. The snail would win. It could drag them for hours.

But coming up from behind, being pushed by the slower and weaker goblins, were enormous sleds made of leather stretched over bone. Long skids allowed them to sail over the desert, and as they caught up with the main warband the goblins holding the ropes clambered aboard, digging their feet against shallow depressions in the surface.

Soon, the snail was pulling them along, and as they tied the ropes to cleat-posts at the sled’s front, they no longer needed to spend their own strength to hold steady. They dropped jagged metal hooks that scraped against the sands, increasing the drag. The beast lumbered on.

The sun was high and hot above, and Shiny laid back and tried to catch her second wind as exhausted tremors ran through her muscle. After the brutal run her lungs felt scraped out by the desert’s harsh air, and every breath stung. Bits of sweat-soaked hair clung on to her face. The ghost-world was gone and she was surrounded by stifling heat, her own sweaty body, and biting sand-mites that had gotten beneath her rags to nip at her skin.

Bug-Eater gave her a leather canteen. She paused to check for, you know, bugs, and took a grateful drink before handing it back.

It was good he was mostly quiet, and happy to let her rest in silence. She would’ve hated to fall for a big loud-mouthed talker. After all. What was there to talk about?

Instead she lifted the ring she’d found out of her pocket, hanging from a bit of leather cord. She held it up to the sky and let the sun drip through the transparent stone. The letters carved into the jade wanted to speak to her. The ghosts wanted to speak to her. The world had a message it needed Shine-Catch to hear, but it was always out of reach, always being carried away by the winds.

The earth sped away beneath them, the skids rumbling and bumping as they ran over bits of stone and ruin hidden in the desert.

The sun glinted through the hole in the ring’s center.

And a shadow passed across it. Huge. Wide-winged. Descending fast, with merciless talons outstretched.

“ROC!” She screamed. But like always, the tribe was already screaming alongside her.