The road stretched out far and the land had filled with multiple oddities, namely giant pillars of stone or boulders heavyset into the orange dirt. Cracked earth too, had given way to sandy dunes as we approached deeper and deeper. Stone moss. Oak trees. Cactii had all given way to dead sand. Stone and sand and nothing else, perhaps a critter or too reeling their heads away from us as we went through. My horse stuck it’s tongue out and shook its head, the heat baring down on all of us.

Three lines had formed. One on the left. One in the middle (near the carts we were sent to protect) and one to the right. Along with these were scouting parties of half a dozen men. Horses with large jugs of water by their sides, covered in some brown or orange cloak and sent to run out into every which direction. So all along our travels, I could see our men posted along far off dune-tops. There were to sound a horn at danger.

There was no sound. No trouble really.

It was three merchants. One who’s wares I did not fully understand, and who was tucked away center of the line. The spice merchant and the front. His cart smelled loveliest, you could see the dried sticks of warm spice dangling by little butcher’s twine along the edges of his cart. Bundles of leaves and flowers, baking in the sun. It perfumed the line something fierce.

And last was the butcher. A closed off cart with hanging carcasses. Some sheets of skirt meat, pleated and hanging off the windows to dry into jerky.

As you can imagine, this is where I hid Juna at first.

That was, until Vincent made a bid at inspecting the carts himself.

So at our first stop, I gave her a nice Crow coat and had her switch into that. The children were tucked into small barrels (for they were small children) and wrapped around the sides of her horses. That’s how it was.

She wasn’t behind me, not even close. Too obvious. Rather she was a few men down the line, five or seven.

Every now and then I’d skirt my eyes behind me and sigh in relief. Every now and then I’d get nervous.

All in all, it was a very uneventful trip. Too uneventful, shockingly so. Not even an ounce of retaliation, which to my understanding was granted by Vincent’s planning. He’d found a nice hidden - out of the ways - route to the city limits.

It was about a two days travel, half the men retreating into the carts and the other forced to drive into night. I stove the girl and the boys in Chet’s kitchen during this time. The Old Man was out cold into grumbling dreams most of the time anyway.

Before I even knew it we had reached the city. Somewhere in the morning of the second. I was almost disappointed, seeing the little village some ways away. Particularly the church bell sprung along the center of the city. A new construction still married to a wooden skeleton clinging by the side where little ants ( from a distance ) worked at filling in the frame with wood. Walls.

Besides that, there was nothing remarkable. We made it to the main gate and waited there, watching the merchants roll inside. We did not even enter the city. Did not even get to enjoy the food vendors, or the whore houses or the anything - we sat on our horses and let our clients pass us.

With them, Juna. The children, snuck inside the spice traders dangling house of scents. Covered somewhere in a foliage of bay leaves, of Carrogate Mistletoe.

When it entered the city, I felt like I could finally breath. And when Vincent looked up from his horse, at the head of the line and said “Alright. Wasn’t so hard, was it?” I could finally feel free again.

Everything lifted. Burden and all.

A bit of rest. Letting the horses drink. And we were off again. Some mares being stowed away in cages, and some being released to replace them.

The desert travel begun again.

“I can’t stand this.” Obrick lifted his cloak over his eyes. “I feel like I’m going to be a puddle soon.”

“It’s not that bad.” I drank.

He swiped the moleskin canteen and ran it over his mouth. He was done within seconds and looked out into the horizon with a still, dead look. Throwing it back to me.

“They don’t know who did the first attack. You know that?” Obrick asked.

“Hmm?”

“Xanthus says the capitol was hit first. Other people say it was coaxed, ‘pperantly he kept moving soldiers deeper and deeper against the borders.”

“Mmm.”

“You know, I joined the Crow’s to help people.” Obrick said.

“I joined them because it was all I had left.” I said. “My only option.”

“No. You had the spirit in you too.” Obrick blew his nose. Sand ejected out. “That’s why you threw yourself at the basilisk’s. That’s why you hunted down the nightstalkers.”

“Maybe. It’s hard to tell what’s noble now a days.” I said. “Maybe I just wanted the stories. The fame?”

“And what stories will the write about you now? Us?”

In front the line of horses walked in single file, lazy in the sand. We following a little road leading from the city, where the sand was pooled to two sides. After a while, that diminished and the dunes encroached. Heading leftwards throughout most of the way, where the sand was just a little bit firmer and where little islands of green propped up every now and then. It seemed an easy trip. Most of us Crow’s, a couple capitol soldiers.

We switched places. Kal taking mine, and me returning to a cart to rest. Sylas eating by the flank of a car, laid down and chewing his fruits. He had a few cores collected, stems and seeds, flipped over to their sides.

The Silverfangs drew. Will little stencils and their lithe bodies bobbing up and down. They’d say shit and throw their paper away. I believed it to be an uneventful trip. A whole day spent in the desert, it was an easy thing for us.

That was until we approached the end of our trip. We must have been half a day from the city, to a point where the dunes disappeared and when hard stone and cracked earth returned. To a point where we were seeing mountain ranges off in the distance and little growths of oak. Vultures too, floating above and prodding the rotting carcasses of cayotes or jack rabbits. It was approaching this new zone, that Sylas came to the realization.

To our rear was a little collection of dead oak, scantleaved, dried to bone white. Plentiful too and rising forked to heaven. Antennas to the sky.

Sylas arose from his spot in the back of the lagging cart. His collection of fruit cores falling from the rim and unto the floor. He looks out towards the little woods. His cart bobbing as it came up to a giant crack. He stared. His hood fell from the back of his head and settled slouched around his wide neck. I turned, Kal and I were changing shifts. I rubbed my eyes and sniffed.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

Sylas kept still. Eyes going wide.

“You feel the wind?” He asked.

The Silverfangs turned. Obrick turned. All of us on horse backs. The men behind us too, starting to turn their heads.

“No. I don’t.” I said.

“How long has it been since you’ve felt it?” He asked.

“I don’t know.” I said. “Why?”

“Go run ahead and tell Vicentius-”

It came all of a sudden. I grabbed my headrag and closed in my shoulders. A gust of wind blew over us, back and forth, pooling underneath us. The canvas dragged and left wooden skeletons of our little trail. Men were swept up from their horses, lifted high, and dropped on their necks. Their skulls cracked on the hard stone, spines dislodging and separating from flesh and muscle. Others died quicker. Bodies ripped to shreds, halves of men falling from the sky. Giblets landing upon the back of my head and splattering. Behind us, at the furthest side of the line a little vortex had appeared. Giant swirls of wind, swollen black and yellow and gaining at us. Men lifted inside. Wood and steel lifted off from the floor, flying every which way. I ducked.

A barrel of spears had just gone for my head. It cracked and broke behind me. The steel tips lifted up and returned back into the vortex, shooting off into the desert.

“Shit.” I said. A large slanted boulder lined one side, I pointed at it. Screamed. Not that my words could even be heard in the chaos.

They just had to see me and pay attention. See where it was I begged them to go.

I started my way, my horse struggling against the wind. The people in front of me; Sylas, Kal, Obrick, Edwin, Lowell, all ready ahead.

I turned my head and saw it. The monster of a tornado, so close to my face. Bringing with it the swirl of man and steel and wooden. Bone. Blades. Spears of wood.

Annihilation.