Neda remained in the front, next to the fat, little man. Curiously; she seemed not to mind the five dead bodies taking turns sprinting next to the caravan, as Asrael ran his experiments in the back. The Necromancer lay still on the hard, wooden boards and continued to devote his focus to viewing the outside world through the eyes of his underlings. The women had suffered beneath the sun and would require drink before long, as the scorching hot, dry atmosphere had greedily suckled the humidity from the pores of their pale skin. The Ogre had fared better, as his substantial size seemed to insulate him from the heat and in combination with his lack of a regular metabolism; this seemed to keep him in a, somewhat, stable homeostasis. Kerras fared the best of all of them- perhaps even better than the oddly adjusted Barrel-like creature directing the horses at the front of the carriage. The Commander’s slight belly and his pre-mortem physical capabilities had set him apart from the rest and made him especially capable of moderating his fluids... still... he was in a great deal of pain as he wandered the desert in an attempt to cater to one of his Master’s whims. Asrael was pleased to sense that no matter how far away the shambling mass of bitter displeasure strayed; his misery continued to radiate across the sands as if he had been moaning his lament right next to him. It seemed reach was not an issue. Normally; this would’ve been a cause for celebration, but as it were; he could still feel the irking girl’s snot and tears on his shirt.

He shuddered at the thought of her. It was becoming increasingly obvious to him that the girl sought for his flesh, but whatever for was beyond him. He was well aware of his abhorrent exterior and imagined he had grown no more attractive since he began this new existence. Perhaps it is a cyclical thing- something related to her hormonal cycle... He pondered silently. The old man had always warned him that a woman’s moods could be as mystical as the lost Rifts- a supposed ‘fact’ he had used in a vain attempt to inspire a perversion in the young Necromancer. He shuddered at the thought of devoting himself to anything but his Magnum Opus. How wasteful. He closed his eyes and traversed the ether, to eye Neda and Barrel from one of his naked women- to listen in on their idle chatter about the desert and of the dangers supposedly concealed beyond every dune and beneath the road, itself.

“You’re taking all of this pretty well, Berral.” Neda spoke and looked down at the sweaty man leaning against the bench. He had long since let go of the reins and seemed to direct the horses with little more than his thoughts. Perhaps, due to their lengthy and intimate relationship; they no longer needed words to communicate- him and his magnificent, beautiful horses.

Berral shrugged. “Been a while since I’ve been kidnapped. Gotta admit; feels kinda nostalgic.” He drew a long breath of air and raised his straw hat to wipe his forehead. He glanced over at the girl to see that the frown had been concealed by a thin veil of a false smile and in turn; took his hat off to extend it towards her. She looked at the piece of apparel with awe and at his insistence; she took it and hesitated- hovering it above her head until she pressed it over her lengthy hair. Then; her smile turned genuine as she released an involuntary giggle- a response she, just hours before, thought she’d never get to experience ever again... not without Rallo in her life.

“Yer lookin’ mighty fine, Madame.” She felt mighty fine, too. She was freshly clothed, freshly washed, somewhat freshly fed and above all; she sat on a carriage- drawn by horses and not people. It felt unreal to her to imagine that the girl enjoying all these luxuries were, in fact; herself. As much as she detested the disgusting idiot in the back, she could not help but enjoy her company... after all; the small man next to her was oddly charming- charming enough to bring a faint blush to her tanned cheeks.

Barrel smiled and braved her sullen, profound mood to ask; “Say, Madame... yer one of the desert people, ain’tcha?” Neda nodded. Barrel continued;

“The scary un... he ain’t ever been to a desert folk camp, has he?”

Neda sighed and shook her head. “No, he hasn’t. I don’t think so... but I haven’t exactly been a tribesgirl, myself. I’m one of them, you know...” she whispered. Berral had assumed as much, but seeing the sadness that came with her confession; he could not help but whisper one of his own.

“Lemme show you sumfin’. A secret.” He grinned a smile of mostly missing teeth before narrowing his eyes down at the horses’ black, swaying backs. Without a word from his lips; they all turned around to stare their dutiful, red eyes towards the girl- earning them a loud gasp.

Her head jerked between the horses and Berral several times- open-mouthed and wide eyed. “You too, Berral!? But you’re working for them- how-” The horses returned to their duties as the small, round man narrowed his eyes at her.

He wiped the sweat from his brow once more and spat on the ground over the carriage’s wooden rail. “I ain’t workin’ for no man- no ma’am... not on my own, free volition. Alls I do is what I wus born to do. I ride my route.” She knew, perhaps even better than him; that his role as a cog in the horrible machine that was the Inquisition of the Blighted Lands was a dark one... but she had always assumed it was something the malicious men enjoyed. Something they deserved as her betters. But the anguish in his eyes... it hinted at a regret. The two exchanged a look of understanding- of a sudden kinship in the middle of the madness that was their current situation.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, independent rider Berral. I’m Neda.” She extended her hand with a genuine smile this time- a warm smile.