Jes and Theophilus sit on the reddish stone, their legs dangling over the cliff edge, and watch the setting sun on their right cast long shadows over the desert below. Their small fire crackles quietly behind them, warm against their backs.
Jes is a slight woman, no more than 5 feet tall and, despite her tan, unusually fair for these southern lands. Her grey cloak is wrapped around her against the chill breeze and the hood nearly hides her Dovish heritage – large, tufted ears that stick out to the sides of her head.
“D’you think them Kingfishers will keep to the deal?” she asks.
Theophilus is a hulking figure beside her. He wears a tunic made from layers of linen – strong armour. But his skin, which is dark grey and fissured like dry mud, looks equally strong. He is Mard, one of the mountain folk, and the brand on his bald scalp and the cudgel he habitually swings from hand to hand give the false impression of a brute.
He grunts. “I hope so.” He ponders for a moment, humming, and Jes knows to let him think slowly. “Their god likes secrets.”
Jes: “You mean, they’ll want to open the Gate for us? Because then Elira will be able to tell them about what’s on the other side?” An affirmative grunt. “Could be…”
Jes trails off, her thoughts on their friend, trapped in some other world. The Kingfisher cult have promised to perform a divination to find a way to open a Gate – if Jes and Theo can make sure they receive the cactus flowers of Spinetooth Oasis.
They can see the oasis as a smudge in the distance, and the river that flows from the bottom of the cliff, flashing red in the fading sun, leads the way to it.
Jes: “Let’s get some sleep.”