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The vagabond's eyes glinted with knowledge, despite the dark tavern. Before he sat with me at my small table, I took note of his considerable height as he walked in—as well as the rest of the patrons, I'm sure. To add insult to the rest of the men he also donned a high-pointed black hat with a weather-worn rim. Although his shoulders were taught and broad, his frame was simple; a lot like mine. His face was angular and cunning, like a fox. A creature of the night from what I could tell by his alabaster skin—not like your usual tinker.
    "What secrets do you hold, wanderer?" I asked.
    "What secrets do you want to know, orphan?"
    He was quick. Too quick. He only moved to draw new cards and brush his curled mane from his face.
    "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were a cheat," I said as I threw another worthless hand in the pile. The edges of his lips curled as he, once again, collected more of my krig. The sound of metal dragging against wood was like a rake over my heart.
    "I wouldn't dream of it. You're just a bit inexperienced. But, you'll get there, I'm sure."
    "How noble of you," I sneered. "Do you just travel and swindle money from unsuspecting youths, or are you a thief? A conman? A bit of both?"
    The man laughed at the accusation. "I'm a wanderer with no home, boy. I have mastered a bit of everything in my travels. I can tell a person's story just by the look of 'em. Like you, lost child."
    "I'm not lost."
    "A runaway."
    "Don't think you can run away from a place that wasn't yours to begin with."
    The vagabond eyed me for a second before continuing. "So, I was correct. A Greyson."
    I couldn't help but roll my eyes at how annoying, or brilliant, he was. Some people called kids like us orphans or even bastards, but the common term was Greyson. "So what are you then, some wise monk?"
    "I've already told you. I'm a little bit of everything."
    I pursed my lips before scanning the crowded room. It was hot, even in the late hours, in the Skaizl barren lands. The place was muggy as the unruly odors of sweaty men and ale wafted about. I honed in on one man sitting alone in the corner. He stared listlessly at his drink.
    "What about him then?" I jutted my chin toward the loner. "What's his story?"
    "Oh, too easy." The vagabond leaned in to get a better view. "That bloke is feeling mighty sorry for himself. His wife has caught him with a different lover and has kicked him out. He pleaded with her to give him a second chance, but she said she had to think on it. Now he's sat wondering how she could be so cruel. He's also thanking his lucky stars that she doesn't know about all the other ladies in his queue."
    I scoffed. "There's no way that's true!"
    "Yes, boy." The vagabond leaned into his chair once more and swirled his mug. "I'm afraid so. And you know what? She'll take him back, though he doesn't deserve it."
    "How do you know?" I knitted my brows at the man.
    "I can tell by his ragged garb. Poverty more often than not leads to poor education. Poor education means people make poor decisions. They become walking parodies of themselves. It's the same story in every region."
    "Well, what if he's just hungry? Doesn't poverty usually lead to hunger?"
    "He's on his fourth round. He is a lover in distress. If it was food he was after, he wouldn't be drinking his coin away in a place like this. When one is miserable, they find an equally miserable place to inhabit."
    I cocked my brow as I took one last glimpse at the heartbroken man. What a fool. Or rather, what a fool I was for listening to the ramblings of a crazy vagrant. But, I couldn't help but embrace the entertainment. It was the first time in a long time that I forgot my troubles, even if only for a brief moment.
    I was careful of how much I gambled. I set strict limits on myself. Playing cards was fun, and winning was even better—but better than all of that was eating for another day. I could sleep behind bins and gullies for the rest of my days to save some coin, but I needed krig to eat.
    The barren lands relied heavily on merchants and traders for supplies and resources. Any game was next to impossible to find among the jagged terrain. Red rocks, dry sand, and glass coated everything in sight. You'd be mad if you actually believed you had found water in such an abysmal place.
    "So, what is it, boy? You staying in Skaizl or passing through?"
    "I don't think anyone passes through here. You just suffer until you eventually, and hopefully, make it out alive."
    "I'm willing to bet, even so, it's better than where you came from?"
    His words shouldn't have stung, but they did. I should have been over it by now. I did everything I could to forget the dreadful orphanage I grew up in. The grubby hands. The needy eyes.
    "What of you? Are you passing through?" I spoke before I could have another thought.
    "Aye. That's what I always do."
    "How?" I asked. My eyes narrowed at the man. The only way to the coast was to try and hop a caravan, but if you were caught, the consequences could leave you alone against the scorch's elements.
    "I have access to steeds. I have passed through the barren lands plenty of times."
    My suspicion was aroused even further. "How do you have access to steeds? If you're some rich man, then give me back my krig."
    "Not rich." His fox-like features protruded with a glint of his eye. "Just resourceful. Would you like to cross to the coast with me? I can take you as far as Dalem if you'd like."
    Generosity was like a feather in the barren lands; fickle and fleeting. Knots formed in my stomach, making me choke on my breath. "Why... would you help me? For what fee?"
    The vagabond shrugged. "Good company, I suppose. You're too promising and young to be wasting away here in the scorch. You'll end up dead."
    "So my options are either die or travel with you? How do I know you're not some crazy deviant who fancies me? Or wants to sharpen my bones for your collection?"
    "You don't know," the man said very matter-of-factly. "That's the thing with traveling, it's dangerous. You gotta learn to trust your gut."
    Several quiet moments passed as I weighed my options. He wasn't wrong at all, at this rate I would probably die in Skaizl. Gambling wasn't always lucrative, and the purses I had stolen from the orphanage grew lighter every day. I swallowed hard before accepting my fate. I extended my hand to the man.
    "My name is Lian Greyson."
    He gripped my hand in return.
    "Nice to meet you, lad. I'm Sidwell Silverdrift."
    "There's no way that's your real name!" I tried to hide my smirk, but failed. The man waved away my concern, trying to hide a simper himself.
    "So, what kind of steeds do you have?" I asked. The man only smiled in return.

Although being out of the sun was preferable, traveling at night was risky in the barren lands; unless you knew the right people. The vagrant assured me that there wouldn't be any problems. I couldn't say that I trusted the man, but I decided to go along with him. I'm not sure if my actions were out of desperation or pure curiosity. I didn't have a whole lot to lose at that point anyway. If I had to endure one more glass splinter or taste any more of the bitter red sands, I might've gone mad.
    We suited up in our massive black cloaks, sturdy boots and thick goggles. Every bit of you needed to be covered to endure Skaizl. We wrapped scarves over our faces and tight cloths around our heads and hands. The man still placed his old hat on top of his head, though. It looked ridiculous, but there was something endearing about the way he didn't mind.
    "We're going to meet my friend," Sidwell said before wrapping his face.
    "They will be up at this hour?" I asked with a cocked brow. Unless the man was completely thick-skulled, he must have been aware of my suspicions. But, even if he knew, he didn't seem to care. He simply nodded in response.
    My heart stilled before setting off with the man. The sky was dark. A sliver of the moonlight shone, but no stars. No constellations with their soothing stories of heroic victories to help guide the souls of the lost. Souls like mine. The only guides I had were my faltering good senses and the peculiar vagrant—which I still didn't know the motives of. The only real solace I had was the old dagger I had stuffed in my sash. I've had it since the instructor's first violent outburst, though I didn't have the guts to use it til later. Years later.
    We headed north, or for what I could remember was north. We weaved our way through the sparse taverns and inns along the path until the shops stopped popping up altogether. In the low light, I could barely make out the boarded caravan in the distance. The trail was made out of packed sand that had been traversed and stomped into place for centuries. Rolling dunes decorated the horizon as far as I could see. They were blood-red during the day, but they looked as black as a dragyte viper in the dead of the night. A shiver ran up my spine.
    It wasn't long before the man strayed from the usual course, stepping foot outside of the trail as if he were entering a quiet meadow rather than the barren lands of Skaizl. My stomach lurched. Every sense I had was screaming not to veer off the trail, but I also didn't want to be wandering alone at night. I cursed through my scarves as I followed the man.
    My gods, I'm gonna get myself killed out here.
    As if he could hear my thoughts, Sidwell turned with an abrupt stop. His silhouette loomed over me like a mighty oak. I gulped hard against the dry air as my hand itched for my dagger. Through the thinnest of moonlight, I could see his dark eyes through his goggles. He gave me an almost imperceptible nod before turning and continuing.
    The icy fingers around my lungs relaxed. The man was intimidating, but he was also unusual and seemed to want to put my mind at ease. I forced my legs to move forward despite it all. I allowed my mind to wander to the coast—where there was lush greenery and plenty of reservoirs. If that truly was the end game, my legs had to carry on.
    We walked for an hour or so. There were no caravans or shops. Just the rolling dunes. Sand and glass came to our knees as we trudged along. I was sure my feet would not forgive me. I managed to get a heavy pair of boots before I was dragged into the scorch, but I had never really used them off of the main trails. I hoped I had tied them tight enough so the red sands wouldn't seep in too much.
    Just then not far ahead, I spotted a handful of large clay domes. In the dark, they had almost looked like more dunes, but they were too perfect. Man-made. Close to the domes was a wide wooden stable. My heart jumped. It looked like the man was telling the truth after all.
    We arrived at one of the tall domes. The man rapped in a pattern on the door. Within a few moments, light burst around us as the door flung open.
    "Sid!" a short sand elf in emerald robes cheered. Her large ears perked at the sight of me, causing her gold earrings to clank against one another. "I'd ask who your mate is, but let's get you out of the elements first."
    She ushered us in hastily, pointing towards a short coat rack where we could remove our cloaks and scarves.
    "I'll get some tea ready." The elf skipped down the walkway towards the kitchen. I wasn't sure if it was okay to let my guard down yet or not, but something about the girl's presence was disarming.
    Sidwell pulled his goggles and scarves loose. "Sorry if I frightened you, lad. She's a little off the beaten path."
    I pulled my cloak from my shoulders, shaking sand off of my body. "Yeah, no kidding. I'll let it slide if we make it out of this forsaken place."
    We joined the elf in the dining room. The house was surprisingly nice compared to any other place I'd been in Skaizl. She poured us two steaming mugs of tea, filling the room with a bouquet of earthy spices, before she took her seat. I willed my hands not to grab so eagerly at the mug. It had been ages since I had a proper cup of tea. Madam Mirriam's rarely allowed such luxuries.
    "It's late. I'll have a room ready as soon as you tell me who your new friend is," she said as she gave me a once-over.
    "This stray is Lian, a Greyson." Sidwell patted my back. "Picked him up in a tavern."
    I glowered at the vagrant before heaving a sigh. "What he says is true. Pleased to meet you."
    She slid Sidwell a guarded look before turning her gaze back to me. "That's wonderful. I'm assuming Sid is leading you out of Skaizl. My name is Shaesalla, but you can call me Shae."
    She offered her hand. I shook it graciously. Her eyes were the color of milky clouds, fringed with thick lashes. Her skin was a honeyed amber with red tribal markings from her face to her fingers. She was slender, yet solid. I had never had contact with a sand elf, or any elf, unless you counted books and spoken tales.
    "Shae and I have known each other for decades," Sidwell began. "Our story is long and tedious and the night only grows, so I'll save it for another time. If you need anything, just call for her. She's one of the most hospitable people I know—and that's a lot coming from someone like me."
    I blinked as I processed his words. Decades? She didn't look a day over eighteen.
    "You alright, mate?" Shae asked.
    "Erm, yes," I stammered, forgetting my manners. "Your home is lovely."
    A smile spread across Shae's face as she gushed. "Well, I run a boomin' business out here, you know. There's no shortage of krig for me. Except for the rentals that never return... but, that's neither here nor there!"
    My brows shot up as I side-eyed Sidwell. "Come again?"
    "She sells and rents mounts for the people and businesses of Skaizl," Sidwell said with a chuckle.
    "And the bit about rentals that never return?" I asked.
    "Ah well," Shae sighed and scratched her nose. "They've either run off with my steed—gaining a hefty bounty—or the scorch took 'em. Either way, it's just the hazards of the business."
    "I see," I replied, scanning the room. Everything looked sturdy and expensive. Solid wood pillars and furniture from trees clearly not from the barren lands were everywhere. Pottery adorned with silver and plants decorated the dining room. "And how much do you charge for a rental?"
    "A hundred krig a day, plus a refundable down payment of a thousand. Two thousand to buy a mature one. You interested?"
    My eyes bulged causing a chorus of laughter from the two. I turned to Sidwell.
    "You can afford this?" I nearly shouted. "Is that really the price to get out of the scorch?"
    "Afraid so," Shae said as she chuckled and wiped a tear from her eye. "Unless you want to try your luck with the caravan."
    "As I said, Shae and I have a long history," Sidwell began. "We have a sort of collaborative relationship. We will have two mounts in the morning."
    Shae scoffed. "Collaborative? If it wasn't for this guy here, I'd be long dead by now."
    Sidwell shot her a glance that was somewhere between humbled and irritated. I decided it was best to change the subject.
    "So... what do you breed?" I asked.
    "Anything you could want. I've got loads of cardinal camels and redback mules. Both bred to be immune to dragyte venom, would you believe that?" Shae gloated before finishing her tea. "If you're staying on the trail, I'd suggest the mules. Otherwise, the camels are heftier."
    "I think we'll stay off of the trails for now," the vagrant replied, also finishing his drink. "In the meantime, we must get some rest. Thank you for the tea, Shae."
    "Your company is always welcome," the elf said with a voice as soft as down feathers. Something delicate danced behind her eyes as she gazed at the wayfarer, but her large ears perked and her attention snapped to the front door. There were three booming thumps, nothing like the rhythmic knocking that Sidwell did earlier.
    "Gods, more unexpected guests." Shae smoothed down her robes before excusing herself from the table. I noted Sidwell's cautious eyes as they followed her down the hall.
    "Is something wrong?" I asked. "The knock was... different."
    "They're strangers to us," he replied, eyes still locked on the sand elf. "Strangers in the barren lands are always something to be wary of."
    Shae pulled the door open to reveal two members of The Guard, tightly bound in leather and scarves. My chest constricted at the sight. Were they searching for Greysons?
    I can't go back.