When Jespar woke up, he felt the pleasant warmth of a fire and was struck by the depressing realization that he was, in fact, not dead.

He rose slowly to his feet, shook himself with vigor, and then began licking the remainder of the poison off his fur.

During this operation, something suddenly occurred to him. He looked up and discovered that, yes, a pair of eyes stared down at him through the flickering flames that burned in the old tunnel.

The girl was still here.

"You Tribals watch each other bathe, too? Some privacy would be nice here, Chief."

Not waiting for her to reply, he decided to continue his work.

"Though I do appreciate the fire," he said through saliva. "You make it?"

Rain-Born nodded solemnly, not taking her eyes off him.

"I did not know if you would wake," she said.

"Heh, I'm not so easy to kill. Capture? Sure. Eat? Possibly. But not kill. I'll be sticking around until I'm done; thank you very much. What happened to our friends out there anyway?"

Rain-Born cast her gaze back towards the tunnel entrance. She could see the rain pouring outside and the shimmering globes moving around under their domain's cover.

"They stopped," she said. "They would not enter the tunnel."

"Lucky us," Jespar replied, licking on a particularly stubborn poison stain.

"I have known some of the greatest warriors of the Tribe to be felled by the poison of the evil eyes," she said quietly, still watching the downpour outside. "Yet you are unharmed."

The dog paused momentarily as if considering her question, then resumed cleaning.

"I'm made of hardy stuff, me, remember? I'm your guiding spirit."

Rain-Born did not reply right away.

"I owe you my life once again," she said as she moved to stoke the fire.

"Yeah, and you saved me too, Chief. That makes us even again, huh? Two for two."

"Two for two," she agreed.

Silence dominated the tunnel for some time, broken only by the sound of the rain beating against its concrete casing and the crackle of the fire's embers as they leaped into the air, full of life. Its warmth made her miss the fires of her hut back home, where the hunters would gather and tell stories of the Deadlands – of the evils of the wastes. They were stories of proud warriors who slew legendary beasts that meant to harm the village – tales of daring and bravery in the face of impossible odds. But there had not been many tales of that kind in a long time. And there were certainly no stories she recalled that included small dogs with strange cone-shaped faces that guided the warriors of the Tribe toward the object of their destiny.

"You are not my guide," Rain-Born said.

Jespar had ceased cleaning himself and was curled up by the fire across from her. His ears perked up at her statement.

"You are not my guide," she repeated. "You are a creature with your own purpose for being here."

His eyes looked up at her before gazing deeply into the fire that burned inches from his nose. "Yeah," he said. "Maybe I am."

"Tell me why you follow me," she heard herself say in the tunnel's darkness, surprised by her sudden willingness to know this strange entity's purpose.

He looked at her long and hard before he said anything.

"Tell me what you're looking for in the Dead City – your Iron Forest."

"I am sworn not to tell a single soul of the Deadlands," she replied.

"Well, that's that then, isn't it?" he said, shaking himself after some thin droplets of water had trickled down from the roof onto his coat of fur. "See, I'm bound to a very similar promise, though I never had much of a choice in the matter, if you ask me. What sane guy wants to go to the Dead City?"

"I go willingly," Rain-Born said with pride.

"You're shitting me," Jespar replied, wide-eyed and incredulous.

"I go to protect my family, the Hanakh. I was chosen for this quest by Father-Mother."

"Chief," Jespar began, measured, and with a heavy sigh that sounded like a moan of resignation. "All you need to do to protect them is be out there, on the front lines. The things I've seen you do? You could stop an army by yourself. I've known guys that would shit bricks just at the sight of you standing there in that canyon, with those tattoos, looking at me and holding that bow the way you were when we met."

Unconsciously, Rain-Born felt herself smile.

She had a vague idea of what awaited them in the bowels of the tunnel. Those she knew who had wandered in had been forever changed when they returned to their hearth. Their faces were grave and shallow, and their eyes sunken with dread. They had not wished to live anymore.

She looked down into the tunnel's darkness and was glad the spirits who ruled here had allowed their fire to burn in their stronghold.

"We shall rest for the night," she said. "And tomorrow we shall walk the Tunnel of the Changeling."

"Sounds lovely," Jespar yawned, circling a small spot next to the fire a few times before settling down and tucking his tail under his legs. "And why do they call it that?"

Rain-Born settled beside him, curling up on the hard concrete of the desolate tunnel.

"Because those who enter never come out the same."

...

After their slumber, they walked in the dark.

With only the single flickering flame of Rain-Born's makeshift torch to guide them.

They passed objects Rain-Born paid little attention to, but through her cursory glances, she could tell they were relics of the old ages. They were great metal husks, with spokes, glass, and rubber wedged inside them in a mismatch of forms. Some looked fierce, like they had once been full of rage and fury, while others seemed sad and empty without a purpose. Whatever they had once been, they were now all reduced to nothing more than rubble locked away in a forgotten corner of a world that had once been theirs.

She kept her feet focused on the path before them. Long, straight, narrow. She told herself this should be the easiest part of the journey. And yet she knew that the Tunnel was more a test of mind than a test of strength or endurance.

Her companion was evidently unaware of such dangers. He had been whistling for the past hour, apparently unfazed by the relics of the old world and the blackened void they encroached upon with every step. Then, suddenly, he began to sing:

"Give me a kiss to build a dream on

And my imagination will thrive upon that kiss

Sweetheart, I ask no more than this:

A kiss to build a dream on!"

Rain-Born did not know the song, and she did not know what special significance it held for the dog. He sang its lines repetitively throughout the long walk, Rain-Born picking out snippets here and there as she attempted to prospect the dark path before them. No footsteps could be seen on the cold metal floor of the tunnel. But she knew that this did not mean danger was not present. Perhaps, if she was able to perform a rite of summoning, she could commune with-

"Hey, Chief," Jespar barked as his song once again ended abruptly. "Don't you Tribals have stories or somethin'?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him, still keeping her left eye trained on the horizon.

"You know – stuff you talk about around your campfires. I don't know – something exciting. Something that gets the heart racing. I wanna know."

"Why?" Rain–Born asked.

At that moment, they sensed movement behind them, underneath the rubber tires of a rotted steel vehicle that sat to their left. A tiny creature scurried out from under its frame, its small twitching mouth scouting for food. Bug-like eyes appraised the strange new visitors to its lair before it hopped off to find its next meal. Its long ears dangled under its feet so that it tripped over itself at every step.

Rain-Born pondered Jespar's question as she watched the harmless tunnel rat. "We tell of the hunters and the dangers of the Deadlands," she said. "We tell of the spirits that battle to protect the Hanakh from our foes that wait in the evil winds. The tale of Fleet-Foot is often heard at the fire pit – of his triumph over the wyrm of the East, whose heart he ate, and whose claws he hollowed to drink the blood of the Guthra he slew in raids."

Jespar stared at her, wide-eyed. "Damn it, Chief, anything nicer?" he asked. "Something more family-friendly? Something to warm the heart of this cold adventurer?"

"Our stories are not for babies," Rain-Born said with more fervor than she realized. "They are told to instruct us in Father-Mother's teachings and the Hunter's ways. They are told to help us survive in the only life that awaits us. Without belief in Father-Mother's words, we have nothing."

Jespar sighed as he ambled ahead of Rain-Born to paw at the tiny rodent, caught by its own misshapen earlobes, and then consumed the creature entirely in a single swift motion. As Rain-Born watched him gulp the tiny beast down and give a slight belch, he turned and scratched himself absent-mindedly.

"That's exactly what baby stories do," he said. "Me? I like to believe in what I can see."

She ignored him and walked on.