On the tenth day a speckle of colour appeared upon the horizon: a caravan flying scarlet colors. I felt the old thrill of civilization with stories, news, wine from the caravan, until Soso tasted the wind and spat. “They cage souls,” he hissed. “They trade flesh, not grain.”

We veered southeast without argument, marching an extra league under a sun so merciless even my erdlu’s shadow seemed to crack. The detour cost us a day and several mouthfuls from every waterskin. No one spoke; words would only have stolen more moisture from cracked lips.

The next morning, the youngest of Kue’er’s brood, Nakkya, collapsed mid-stride. Her siblings tried to lift her, but to no avail. I slid beside her and dripped the last of my medicinal tincture onto her blistered tongue, then placed her on my mount. The mixture was meant for fever. That day, it was all I had left to offer; hope - bitter and inadequate.

As Nakkya rested against my mount, I noticed movement at the edge of my vision. One of the pack members I’d barely interacted with was approaching; a hooded tari who had remained at the group’s periphery since before our journey even began. She wore a thick, heavy robe that dragged slightly in the sand, the hood pulled low enough to swallow her features in shadow.

She knelt beside Nakkya without a word, shared the little water she had, and whispered a quick prayer. Nakkya shrank beneath her gaze, eyes wide, and only relaxed once the figure had slipped away. As she walked away, moving quietly, she passed by the erdlus, who grew skittish in her presence. I watched as one beast nervously sidestepped the cloaked figure; even animals seemed wary of her, giving space to the silent tari.

During that night, Nakkya came to my bedroll and tugged weakly at my sleeve, her voice barely audible. “Uncle Tail-less… is she sick too? The quiet one. She smells like smoke. And… she talks to the fire deep in the ground.”

Her wide eyes searched mine, frightened but curious. I had no answer, only more questions.

–

We moved again at predawn, chasing the faintest promise of green Soso had scented days earlier. By now the Wild Erdlu scouts looked as hollow as their birds. We were all equally miserable.

Just past the fourteenth sunrise, the dunes gave way to a crease of shadow. A few fragile palms bent over a depression no wider than a merchant’s courtyard. At first I feared it a mirage, but an erdlu shrieked and stamped, tasting true water on the wind. Soso raised both arms; the pack froze. “Step lightly,” he murmured, reverent. “The spring belongs to a friend whose eyes we cannot see.”

We entered single-file. Thin bushes screened a pool of mineral-clear water. I knelt at the edge, wanting to plunge in headfirst, yet etiquette held me back. A hush so profound I heard the blood in my ears settled over the oasis, then the fronds rustled, though no breeze stirred. Welcome, travelers. The voice was everywhere and nowhere at once.

Only when Soso bowed did the rest of us follow, feather cloaks sweeping sand like ceremonial fans. Permission granted, Kue’er let out a trembling laugh and ushered his children forward. They ran and jumped impossibly gracefully, arcing over the bushes to splash down in the warm water. Their father’s shoulders sagged, visibly relieved.

Perjaann the Hooded one.

I had known most of the tari in Soso’s new group before I officially joined them. Some had been from the Okarath packs, others were stragglers or refugees like myself, drawn by Soso’s charisma and wild visions. Many had come simply because they had nowhere else to go.

Similarly, most of the tari already knew me, or at least knew of me as the tail-less outsider who spoke their tongue in broken, halting phrases.

But among them, I still hadn’t been officially introduced to the silent hooded one.

She was always apart from the others, with her heavy cloak and hood pulled low over her face, even in the sweltering heat of the Athasian wastes. I noticed her on the first night of our journey, crouched near a small fire sharpening a jagged obsidian dagger, her movements slow and deliberate. The flickering light cast shifting shadows beneath her hood, and for a moment, I thought I saw something white gleam beneath the fabric—bone.

The other tari avoided her out of wariness with an understanding that she was not to be disturbed. She moved with the pack, but always on the outskirts, speaking to no one. Only when Soso gave orders did she react, carrying them out with quiet efficiency before disappearing into the background once more.

One evening, I asked Soso about her.

“Perjaann - you have finally noticed the ember among us.”

“I noticed her because no one speaks of her,” I said. “Who is she?”

Soso shrugged, “She prays to the Magma, but the Magma does not listen.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

Soso’s face became serious and gestured toward the edge of the camp. “See for yourself, tail-less.”

I followed his gaze and saw Perjaann standing apart from the others, facing the horizon where the land sloped downward into endless dunes. The wind howled, tugging at her cloak, revealing more of her face than I had seen before.

And that was when I truly understood why the others whispered about her.

The left side of her face was a ruin. The fur was burned away entirely, the skin blackened and cracked. Where there should have been a cheek, there was only charred flesh, and beneath that, white bone gleamed where the wound had eaten deep. Her eye on that side was milky and unseeing, but the other burned with an intensity that made even me hesitate.

She was whispering something under her breath, her voice hoarse, almost a growl.

“What happened to her?” I asked softly.

Soso leaned on his staff, “She sought to embrace the Magma elementals. They did not embrace her back.”

I looked at him. “She tried to commune with them?”

“She did.”

“And?”

Soso exhaled, as if the answer was too obvious to need saying. “The Magma spirit did not listen. So it took instead.”

There was something unsettling about the way he spoke of it, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. I looked back toward Perjaann. If her communion had failed so catastrophically, why did she still believe?

“She hasn’t abandoned her faith?” I asked.

“She has not.”

“She doesn’t seem to speak to anyone.”

“She does not.”

I turned back to him. “Then why is she here?”

Soso smiled. “She prays to the Magma, but her heart and spirit are like a tornado.”

It was the most sense I would get out of him, and I knew better than to press further. But Soso’s cryptic words lingered in my mind as we continued our journey, and I found myself watching Perjaann more closely.