A sharp pain tore through the man’s head, causing him to wake. Wendell squinted at the bright light, shielding his eyes from the sun. Everything hurt, but it was his parched lips that stung with an intensity that made him suck air through his teeth. What nightmare was this? He reached up and pressed a finger to the back of his head, finding the hair of his crown knotted and dry. Delving deeper, he touched a finger to an open wound and gasped again, drawing his hand away to find blood. Where was he?

Waves crashed against the shore a few feet from him, his trousers waterlogged and heavy. A small prey bird sat at the edge of his vision, squawking, as if to laugh at his misfortune. “The Oathkeeper,” he muttered, looking up and down the shore for the galleon. He had been considered one of the vessels crew for the better part of six years. Disagreeing with the captain had landed him in hot water from time to time, but nothing quite like this.

Abandoned to unfamiliar shores, Wendell staggered to his feet. He looked down the beach, taking inventory. He had seen his fair share of nerdowells come and go from the Oathkeeper crew, but there had been friends too. “Caed…” he mouthed, bending to take up the canteen of freshwater someone from the crew had left him.

Wendell took a long, greedy drink from the canteen, his tunic wet with spilt water by the time he was sated. I must savour what little is left, he thought, only to drink again. The canteen was empty by the time it fell against his hip moments later, the lid swinging precariously from a small leather arm attached to the bottle. Wendell surveyed the wreckage, noting first and foremost, the hole in the side of his boat, hooked to a rock it had crashed against upon meeting the shore. Had there been a storm?

He bent to pick up his pack and wrestled with the contents to pull forth a small compass, the screen misted with liquid that had become trapped beneath the glass, heated by the desert air. With care, the pirate opened the compass up and cleaned the screen before closing it shut again. A small, red finger pointed north and he looked up the coast as if to commit the shape of the land to memory. His curse was lost to the wind. May it find the vessel and follow its crew to the edge of the known world, Wendell thought.

“Compass, whetstone, weapons,” he mumbled, going through his things. There really wasn’t a lot to find.

The bird squawked again, a hawk of some kind, with yellow eyes and dark brown speckles dotted throughout its plumage. Wendell flinched. He recognised that bird, it had also belonged to Caed. He touched his tongue to his teeth, emitting a long, loud, sharp whistle and raised his arm. The hawk flew up to perch on his wrist, only for Wendell to drop his hand with haste. “Farrr!” He hissed, turning his arm to find the birds needle-like talons had pierced the skin. Small beads of blood pooled at the surface of each tiny cut and ran down towards his fingers.

“I guess that’s why Caed always wore gloves, huh?”

Wendell reached into his pack and pulled a pair of gloves from the bag. He slipped the right one on and fastened it at the elbow, the other tucked into his pocket, before summoning the bird again. The hawk came to him, just like he had seen to do time and time again with his shipmate. “He must have thought you good for something,” Wendell said, not quite sure what. “Roasting.” He teased, and the bird flapped its wings as if it had understood him.

The ship was dragged up onto the shore. For as far as the eye could see, Wendell could not spot a tree in sight. Finding the right supplies to get the boat seaworthy was going to take some time. He knew it was dangerous to risk leaving it, but to stay in this heat and with little in the way of food, could only equal a slow and painful course of starvation. I need to find water, he thought, and began his journey inland, using the compass and the landmarks around him to map a course.

Kes looked across at the pirate, her head tilted to one side. Foolish man, he had earnt the wrath of his Captain and now look where he was. She’d had time to scout the area that they’d landed on, and there was little to sustain her, let alone him. She flexed her arms and feet, having sat still for far too long. The sun was hot, and she was glad of her covering. How long had she lived on that cursed ship, trapped? Whenever there vessel had gone ashore, she’d always been locked away. With kind words and gentle hands of course but secured none the less. Now, now she was free.The pale sand shifted below, lifting in the breeze that washed in with the tide. She watched the blood clot slowly on the back of his head, gathered up his belongings so that they were dropped closer to his side, and retreated to wait. How long was he going to sleep for? Kes glanced at the sun, scowling with concern. If he slept much longer then he was in danger of burning. He needed shade and she was in no position to provide it.Finally, he stirred and she sat up, was he alright? The wound on the back of his head had worried her, but at least he was moving. He found his feet and looked up. The man seemed to pause before summoning her. Kes considered her options, pausing before she relented. With a quick beat of her wings, she lifted into the air and dropped into a swoop. She glided across the sand, lifting at the last moment to land on his arm, but not without making her displeasure felt.He flinched and if she could have, she would have laughed. He teased and she flapped at him, a warning. He insisted on dragging the ship out of the sea while she perched, watching silently. Eventually, he started to move and she flew, landing on his shoulder. Why waste her own energy, when he was easily able to carry them both. As they moved inland, Kes lifted off and fought to rise into the air. With so much heat she was able to find thick threads of thermal air to carry her. With regular checks on the man, she was able to scout a larger distance across the rising dunes. His search for water, shelter and food, was going to be a difficult one. She almost felt sorry for him.Hours passed and in the distance, she could see a curve in one of the dunes. Not much, but a pocket of desert that was sheltered from the sun. She left sight the man and bent her wings in, eager to see if the feature could offer anything in the way of water. From a distance, she could see water between the rocks. With a final glance at the man, she sped forward. The hawk dropped from the sky to the shade cast in the desert. Really, there was little here but it was better then nothing. Hopping around, she examined the trickle of water that rose up from the rocks. A spring. She dipped her beak to drink before taking the largest mouthful that she could carry.Kes returned to the skies, winging her way back towards the man, though it took long enough as she found the right thermals to conserver her energy. Finally she returned to him, dropping onto his shoulder. She met the man’s gaze and promptly emptied her beak, letting the water fall onto his shirt. She gripped him gently with her talons and took off once more, hovering overhead before winging her way in the direction of the spring. Circling back she waited to see if he would follow.

The desert was a strange place. Only having marveled at it from a distance in the past, Wendell was struggling with its true vastness. Miles and miles of nothing stretched further than the eye could see. How was it this place could be so peaceful and yet so deadly? Sand got in everything, his clothes, his eyes, even his boots. It was hot, insufferable and rubbed the skin raw.

The wind off the coast offered little in the way of relief, yet he found reason to be thankful, especially an hour into the journey when he had finally decided to sit and take a rest. With no water in his canteen, staring out at the coast had been a torture all of its own. Through his clothes the sand was hot, but bearable. Hands hardened by years of rope-burn did not feel pain, but his feet were a mess, red, raw and stinging.

He took the red sash he wore about his middle and used it to clean and bind one of his feet. He considered the right his lead foot, worth protecting. Up and walking once more, the man had removed his tunic and fashioned it into a makeshift turban, protecting his sunburnt face from further damage, leaving his arms exposed to the worst of the heat.

Wendell made a point of avoiding any of the native flora and fauna. Being that this terrain was unfamiliar to him, he did not want to risk unnecessary injury or poisoning. Desert snakes and insects were at the top of his list of things to avoid, however, he was most careful of the stick-like plants and anything that flowered.

The hours fell away and as the coast disappeared from view, the cool air seemed to pass with it. His compass was the only tool at his disposal that could lead him back to the ship, clutched tight in his right hand. In survival situations, Wendell had always been warned that shelter was of the utmost priority, followed by water and food,l. His stomach tightened uncomfortably, parched lips echoing his body’s longing for water.

A glance skyward saw the man follow the flight path of the hawk. What did the bird see from up there, he wondered. Might they have been better to stick to the coast where they would try to fish or search for different types of sea life, crabs and shellfish? There were many reasons to stay close, but in reality, Wendell had doubts that he would find any fresh water there.

Hours into their journey, the hawk had escaped his sight. Smart bird, he thought, save yourself. It was a few minutes before the animal returned and Wendell found himself squinting up at the sky once more. The bird spiralled down towards the earth, choosing to perch on the man’s shoulder once more. The creature dropped something on his folded shirt and, for a horrified moment, Wendell thought the filthy animal had sicked-up on him.

It squawked and took off again in the direction it had come from, this time keeping the man in sight. The way the creature looked back told him that it was one of higher intelligence, that he should follow. The march across the dunes was a laborious torture that left the man wishing the sky would darken soon and with it, some relief from the heat might follow. How disappointed he would be to find that this was not the case.

The dunes dipped down, as if to fold in on themselves, providing what the man could only assume was shade. He found his tired legs re-energised by the thought of some relief from the scalding sun, choosing to run towards the darkened shadow. Wendell tripped, rolling down the face of a hot dune, only to pause for a minute, as if to assess his form and wait for signs of injury. On his feet once more, he closed the gap between himself and the shadow, falling against the sand, expecting to find it cool.

Though the sun no longer licked at him from overhead, the sand beneath him was almost as hot as that which lay exposed to the full brunt of the elements. “Curse this dreaded place,” he mouthed.

The bird sat at the corner of his vision, dipping its head, pecking at something on the ground. Wendell stole a moment's rest before moving to investigate, forced to blink and rub his eyes to make sure what he saw was not just a trick of the mind. “A spring, here?” He spoke, already crawling on his belly to move closer.

The man submerged his face in the water, the small pool its own heaven in the midst of all this hell. He cupped his right hand, having placed the compass in the right pocket of his trousers, and scooped the water into his mouth, an animated attempted to quench his thirst.

It was only day one, he thought then. What was the plan? Even if he found a tree, how would he secure the materials he needed to repair the boat without the right tools? Wendell took his canteen and filled it to the brim before the lid was once again fastened. He lay on his back, staring up at a cloudless sky. “I’m going to lose my mind in this place,” he said, as if speaking to the bird. “I’m going to lose my mind and you’re going to pick my bones clean once the desert has taken from me all I have left… my life.”

If he left the spring, he risked losing their only water source. Yet to stay meant a slow and insufferable death. The Oathkeeper Crew had half starved before, lost out at sea after an attack in the night that had left them with only one mast. It had been a strange time and forced them all to partake in a meal of one of their own, the kind of stuff nightmares are made of.

Wendell glanced at the bird. It was slim, even with all those feathers which, once removed, would only leave it smaller yet. “You found this,” he said, hand buried in the shallow pool. “I wonder, bird… can you find people too?”

He needed help, he knew that much. His best bet of survival was finding people, people he could trade with. Wendell had little in the way of currency, but he needed an axe. The bird was valuable, he thought, perhaps even enough for trade.

Wendell wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep, but he awoke to darkness, covered in sweat. He bent to take another long drink from the spring and sighed. The bird was out of sight, but he had no fears that she was lost, the spring was their lifeline, one to which he knew the animal would return.

Disappointed to find the nights were as bad as the days, Wendell chose to find rest once more. Tomorrow is a new day, he thought, he would consider his options then.

He followed and she was relieved. He looked bloodied and beaten by the time he dropped down beside the stone and found the small source of water that rose up from a fissure in the ground. She had been able to sense the water when she was closer to it, not just see it. Around the spring, more of those dry desert plants grew and she watched them with caution. Something about everything in this dusty place was off, and she almost regretting leaving the ship behind, almost. It had been her first opportunity in months and she was damned if she wanted to spend her entire life as a hawk. 

Perched on the stone, she watched him drink. She quenched her own thirst, but it was hunger that made her wings weak. Birds were supposed to conserve energy and in her attempt to help the man, she had flown far and wide on an empty stomach.He shuffled closer and she could see him eyeing her up, as though he were hungry. She turned a stern eye on the man, if he tried something, he was in for a surprise. The sand shifted and battered the pair of them. She turned into his shoulder, lifting a wing to shield her face and eyes from the worst of it. She screeched, as soon as the wind dropped she jumped back into the air.

Find people? He had said. Well, if he was sure. Before she had even flown beyond his vision; the man was asleep. Kes couldn’t blame him. The thermals didn’t drop overnight, because the vast, empty heat of the quartz desert remained. Kes drifted beneath the stars, following the keen nose of the hawk, long after dusk had fallen. Her hawks eyes weren’t as good in the dark, and she struggled as she flew; using careful beats of her wings to prolong her journey.It was the scent of fire that caught her attention. In the dark, she circled a small camp. They were roasting something on a spit and she couldn’t resist. Kes dropped from the sky, tore a strip of cooker meat from a man’s hand and fled the group with a screech.

The stranger was on his feet, shouting after her, pointing to his companions. She tossed the strip into the air, caught and swallowed it whole. It would sustain her, enough for now at least. He had told her to find people, and she lingered over the campfire, until the group of three men started to pack. They shouted to each other, excited to try and catch a prize.

If she could have rolled her eyes, she would have. She went slowly, weaving back across the dunes and it took the best part of the night. For them to follow her with their bags, their horses and supplies. Kes circled back, pausing only to drop down and end the life of a small mouse. Soon, she hoped, soon she could eat cake again, or bread… something coated in sugar and delicious.

The new dawn had started to crest the horizon by the time she could see the stone, the spring and the man she had left behind. She screeched and flattened her wings, speeding like an arrow back to the man from the ship. She screeched again, flapping hard as she hovered overhead. Three figures rising from the sand behind her. Find people he had said; and she had delivered. She just hoped he had a plan. What would he have done without her?

She couldn’t help but wonder and winged her way over the stones, hiding behind the tallest point. Kes perches, half-hidden and hoped that the man was a decent fighter. She had thought so, from the time she had seen him on the ship. 

A sharp, swift kick to the guts saw Wendell stir. He clutched his side, writhing in agony. What a rude awakening! The man who had kicked him was dark of skin and covered in layers of cloth that made him appear bigger than he was. Wendell scurried to his feet, reaching for his weapons, as if to mirror the movements of the men in front of him.

“He’s alive!” His attacker called to the pair at his back, the trio using a strange language Wendell did not understand.

They stood with weapons drawn, wielding curved swords that seemed to cut through the air in slow motion. The heat of the new day was already unbearable, suffocating and thick. It rippled before his eyes, distorting his vision.

The trio started shouting at one another. Wendell could only imagine they were arguing about him. “I’m not dangerous!” Wendell called, raising his weapons above his head, a long sword in his right hand, a dagger in the other.

His submission didn’t seem to ease the tension of the group, instead causing the man who had kicked him to dive forward in a lunge, thrusting his weapon in Wendell’s direction. Wendell side-stepped the swing, tempting his attacker to brave another step that saw him move into range of the pirate’s swing.

Wendell brought his long sword down hard, slicing into his attackers shoulder. The stranger cried out, his life ended in a fell swoop as the pirate’s dagger was driven into the crying man’s side. He fell off the blade and onto the sand, motionless. Wendell gasped as he caught sight of the blade that had ended the man, finding that the metal had been painted with a strange black liquid that looked almost blue in the first fingers of morning light.

The remaining pair ran for their horses, their sudden movements causing the animals to bolt. They gave chase for a time, only to pause near the top of the dune. Wendell hesitated, unsure as to whether he should give chase or guard the small spring with his life, after all, it had saved him so far.

When they turned back, his drumming heart beat quicker still. I’m not prepared for this, Wendell thought. I don’t want to die here! He shifted his stance, readied his weapons and prepared himself for battle. The ache in his feet was silenced, weak legs made strong by the rush of adrenaline that pulsed through his veins. The clash of swords made him frighteningly aware of himself and his surroundings, but two against one was still uneven odds.

A flurry of blows followed, the pirate able to block the slower, heavier blades his opponents wielded. He saw fear in their eyes after witnessing the death of their comrade, which had made him braver than it should. Was it arrogance that saw him slip, hesitating just long enough to see the tip of a curved blade lick at the back of his right. shoulder.

Wendell hissed, twisting to drive his dagger into the neck of his attacker, only to expose himself to another blow. This time the skin on the back, upper part of his left arm was split, causing him to release the dagger. It fell away with the dead man, buried in his throat.

The pirate didn’t dare pause, forced to defend himself once more. Whatever fear had existed in his enemy’s eyes was now gone, as if the cloaked man could taste victory. Panic set in, his thoughts were a blur. Survive, block, fight back! These small, desperate thoughts raced through his mind, hunger and weakness forgotten, only for Wendell to find himself backed against the wall of the dune that had provided shelter that night.

His long sword was thrown aside after an overpowering swing by his attacker made contact. Wendell raised his hands, pleading with a glance, silent.

“Please,” he said, “you attacked me first!”

Her screams were not enough to wake the man as he slept. He had asked her to find people, although she doubted this was what he had meant. There was a sickening thud as the bandit’s boot connected with his middle. She screeched again, wings flapping as she watched. Her heart was pounding against her chest, her gaze narrowed as she hopped from side to side. Afraid to watch, she leapt into the air and circled. The pirate fought well, better than she had hoped and evened the numbers. A body dropped away from him, and the strange black liquid made her gag. If she’d had a nose, she would have wrinkled it.

Was he struggling with the second? Kes dropped like an arrow, flapping at the third bandit, forcing him to fend her off instead of joining his companion in attacking the pirate. However, as a small, thin boned bird there was little that the woman could do. She was forced to retreat, winging her way back around the rocks. She could smell blood. Not the strange, dark liquid that filled the air, but blood. The second bandit dropped, but her pirate was injured.

Kes watched, for a few terrifying moments as the men engaged in battle. The pirate lost his weapon and she closed her eyes. It was like being drunk, when she first changed form. The longer she spent as someone other than herself, the worse the effect was. Her bare limbs were too long, un-coordinated and weak. The stung, rushing with pins and needles, as though she’d had the blood cut off from them, for too long. She stood like a new-born deer, all knees as she wobbled. There wasn’t enough time to come around. Adrenaline had her heart pumping hard and her vision cloudy as it adjusted back from the cones of a bird. The light was too bright, she stumbled, staggering and dropped to the side, rolling across the burning sand. Kes, had curled her hands around the weapon that had flown from the pirates’ grasp.

The bandit had seen something from the corner of his eye and he looked, then turned to look again. A naked woman had appeared from nowhere. He stared, distracted for a moment and it was all the time that she needed to slide the blade between his ribs. He let out a grunt, looking up at her with shock before he dropped to his knees, hands pressed to the blade as he fell.

Kes stared at the man before she turned. The rising sun was harsh against her bare skin, pale as the moon as it hadn’t been exposed to daylight in so long. She pushed herself up from the sand, wincing as it burnt her hands. It was all fresh skin, delicate and new as a babe. This was the problem with taking a form for too long. She staggered sideways before she bent again, throwing up the meagre meal she had eaten. The whole mouse returning back to the desert sand, but coated in the acid of her stomach. She retched again, swearing that she was never eating meat again. The woman edged back to the spring, scooping up a handful of water to clear her mouth, spitting the foul taste into the sand before taking a drink.

She sat back on her heels, long hair falling over her chest as she sighed. Finally, she turned her gaze on the pirate.“Do I have to do everything around her?” She demanded, though her voice was thick, the words slurred as though she’d been drinking hard liquor. 

What unfolded before his eyes was nothing short of magic. Though certain death had looked him in the eye, the pirate sat in the sand, alive, heart racing a mile a minute. Wendell stared at his saviour, wide-eyed and speechless. Her features were piercing, with eyes the most incredible shade blue he had ever seen. Captivated by the silver haired creature, for a spell, his injuries were forgotten, until the sight of blood saw pain sensors triggered. The back of his shoulder hurt, but it was his left arm he knew he should worry about.

“Thank you,” Wendell managed, “for saving me.”

Wendell shuffled forward in the sand, hands patted over the body of the man the bird-woman had taken down with his blade. “Quick,” he said, “take something to wear, I’m going to use his turban to wrap my arm,” Wendell explained. “Run and fetch the horses, we’ll need them if we are going to survive this place.”

Catching up to the animals would be no trouble for a woman who could take to the air as easily as a fish to water. Wendell had the girl help him tie the long wrap of fabric about his arm, tight enough that it would stem and hopefully stop the bleeding.

His most valuable find came after searching the second man, who had been carrying an axe. “The gods smile upon us.” Wendell grinned, taking up the handaxe and raising it skywards as if it were a juicy slab of steak. The axe meant that when they found trees, he would be able to gather enough wood to drag back to the boat to commence repairs.

Throwing blades would also prove to be a useful addition. Though the man had a bow, having always preferred ranged combat, lost in the desert with no arrows had forced him to think quick on his feet, defending himself with what little he knew of the blade. He dreaded to think what the outcome of the battle might have been if they had not chosen to wake him in such a rude manner. Wendell wasn’t sure if it was pain from the kick to his gut or his empty stomach that caused him grief now.

Adrenaline ebbed and his vision stabilised. The morning’s events had been unexpected, the first of many trials they were to face. Wendell was sure the desert would throw many more their way. The trio could have just as easily slit his throat, rather than wake him and, it would be he who lay dead in the sand.

Supplies gathered and set to one side, Wendell turned to the shade of the dune and sat to drink from the spring. He filled his belly in an attempt to stave his hunger. A twisted thought crossed his mind as he eyed the bodies of the dead. No, he thought to himself, we don’t do that anymore. But what if… just this once? The devil on his shoulder smiled.

The bird-woman, should she return, would find Wendell hunched over a small fire he had managed to spark using the twig-like plants growing around the spring. He had been careful to use his gloves when pulling the plants from the earth, lighting the dense pile with the use of his tinderbox. Flesh had been carved from the calf muscles of one of the men and sat smoking over the fire.

Wendell said nothing. They needed to eat and, if she would not, he would survive alone. “I won’t die here,” he said, “I want to live.”

The sun moved higher in the sky, the heat of the day as relentless as it had been the day before. There was a strange tension in the air, one that made the small hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “We won’t be able to stay here,” Wendell said, “not for long. Their friends will come looking for them when they realise they have not returned, if they don’t see the smoke first. Gather whatever you want from their belongings, fill one of their canteens with water, quench your thirst and we will make a move.”

It was the smart thing to do, he thought. As hard as it would be to leave the small spring behind them, lingering now could only spell trouble for the pair. He had so many questions, but there was too little time. His belly was full, his thirst had been sated and they had enough supplies to see them through the desert, or so he hoped.

Once her immediate thirst was quenched, the woman edged over to the first of the bodies, glancing up at the pirate as he gave his orders. Kes managed to salvage a tunic from the man, only spotted with a few dark spots of liquid. Nose-wrinkled, she tugged it from the body and pulled it over her own shoulders. It reached beyond her knees and covered her arms beyond her wrists. The bandit had been a taller man and he’d had wider shoulders, so it hung awkwardly. She removed the smallest pair of boots that she could find and was relieved to find that they fit well enough. His next instruction caused her to pause and she stood up, staring at him for a moment.

At least he had offered thanks. After all, she had saved his life, twice. No matter what the pirate thought she might do to catch the horses, in the end she simply strode out into the desert. Her feet slipped on the sand and she cursed the footwear. Everything was so difficult without wings, though she wasn’t tempted to return to another form. Not for a few days at least. It was going to take time to adjust back to her own humanity; after so long as a bird she worried that another shift would make it even harder to come back.

Standing amongst the dunes, Kes closed her eyes. She could sense the horses and she quieted her own thoughts. It took a while, but the horses eventually turned back to find their masters. They wanted to be lost in the desert, just as much as she and the pirate did; well two returned anyway. They nosed her hands when they saw her and followed her back to the man. She searched the packs of the dead men, throwing most of the meagre belongings aside. There was a little dried meat, which she put away, along with a canteen that she refilled. She found a fresh pair of dark trousers rolled up and stowed in the bottom of one bag, and pulled them, on shielding the rest of her body from the sun.

A second scarf wrapped around her fair hair and the sensitive skin on the back of her neck.The woman collected up a staff that had been abandoned on the ground, turning it over in her hands to check the balance before nodding to herself. Kes kept her distance from the fire as he ate, grimacing as she watched. She was hungry, but not that hungry. Not yet.

“If the gods smile upon you, then why are you here?” She asked, though the words still came awkwardly. Her stomach turned, the sickness of shifting not yet passed. It would take some hours yet, and a good night of sleep before the sensation faded; till then, she still felt as though she had been drinking. Or worse, as if she was fighting off a hangover. “Wendy?” She asked, cautious as she checked the canteen was filled. “That is your name?”

The woman approached the horses, selecting a horse the colour of her own pale hair to mount. She swung up onto the saddle, watching the pirate.“I am Kes’tral,” she told the man. “I heard them call you Wendy though, many times. When they weren’t cursing your shadow of course,” she grinned at him. “Shall we? The desert waits for no one…”

They set off into the day, passing long hours trudging through the sun. She wondered if there was anything they had left behind, but she refused to worry about it. What was left, was left. She was confident that she and Wendy between them had managed to take anything of use. Kes told him about the scraps of dried, salted meat that she’d found, wrapped away within the bags. She looked across at him often enough, wondering if he had a plan. With his compass he directed their journey. Water was scarce, and she considered the wisdom of leaving the spring behind. Looking up at the sky, she sighed. She could return to the wing if they were desperate. She also had no desire to die in the pale, burning sand.

“That is not how the gods work. They do not pick me up and place me on these shores. Men did that,” Wendell said. “Perhaps some gods work through men, in that case, I am cursed and you choose to walk this wasteland with the damned.” He smiled, smirked even.

“Kes’tral,” Wendell echoed, “you have my name correct,” he told her, lied, but who here was to know other than him? He had seen the jerky and left it. The chances that it was the dried flesh of the last lot of travelers they had run into was just as high as it being desert goat.

The bird-woman picked a horse from the pair and Wendell was left with what remained, a spirited looking black horse with one blue eye and one brown. He had a white star on his temple and four white socks. His hooves were dark, as was his mane and tail. Wendell examined the riding gear, dark and bejeweled with small desert stones, crafted into intricate beads of emerald, sapphire and amber. The flat saddle was gilded with gold thread, the horn tall, prominent. At least they would blend in, he thought.

Wendell couldn’t understand why their attackers had worn such dark clothing in this hot place, but he bent one last time to relieve a man of his tunic, slipping it on over his upper body. It was a snug fit, but with his white tunic fashioned as a makeshift hat, he had little else to work with. The dark cloth wrapped about his upper left arm did not show the blood, though his wound still bled beneath the tight bindings.

It was difficult to leave the pool. Wendell wet his hair and face, stealing one last drink before they were on their way. Kes’tral seemed as reluctant to say goodbye to the spring as he had been, but once they set off, it was none but a bittersweet memory.

The arm on the compass pointed northwest at the top of the first dune. Wendell pulled the reins to see his mount turn to face true north. The coast was east of them, somewhere behind the endless hills of sand, and ahead, they saw nothing in all its glory… miles and miles of nothing.

“We have two options,” Wendell said. “We find wood and drag it back to that dreaded boat or we hope the landscape changes soon, find a town and go our separate ways.” He was certain the woman did not want to follow him to hell and back, but parting before they reached civilisation just didn’t make sense. “Do you know anything of this land?” He asked.

The sun was a small white bead in the sky overhead, too intense to stare at directly. The horizon seemed to glow red in the morning light. Wendell didn’t want to imagine what the day had in store for them, instead he pressed on, glad it was not his own feet carrying him. Cursed or not, he was alive and he wanted to stay that way.

Kes had chuckled at his response. She had seen his behaviour on the deck of the ship; if he was cursed it was by his own behaviour and actions. She watched him as they rode, after all other then endless, endless dunes of sand, there was little else to look at. His arm must be hurting him, she knew. She also had the ability to remove such a wound from the man but decided to stay her hand for the time being. Who knew what they would face in the coming days? A fate worse then a bloody arm could befall either of them and she liked to keep her options open.

She was restless as they rode, becoming accustomed to her body once more. She swung her legs and arms; twisted and touched the rump of the horse before stretching out and touching it’s ears. Thankful, that the animal was patient with her, even if the mare was curious. Her limbs still felt too long and ungainly, strange without the drag of feathers to weight them. Slowly, her sense of smell and long distance vision was fading and left her feeling as though she had a heavy cold. It would be a few days before she adjusted entirely and her human self became normal; whatever that was.

He spoke of their options and she laughed, twisting to stare at him once more. “Options?” She shook her head, “there is little to this land but sand.” Kes lifted her shoulders in a shrug, “no trees, no wood for some way.” She looked further back at the dunes they’d already climbed. “I do not believe we will return to your boat.” Kes’tral told him, honest.

It was then that she gestured to the empty sand ahead. “I know little of this land, except that…if you seek life then we travel the right path.” She sniffed the air, “North?” she confirmed and pointed at the distant, endless desert. “How many days, I do not know. Travelling together, seems safest for you,” she lifted her brows and grinned, “a man’s life is fragile.”