Day thirty-three.
The desert stretched ahead like a frozen ocean, dunes rolling beneath two suns. Owen carried Gorvax across his back, the Sower's blue-skinned arms loose around his neck, breath shallow against his shoulder.
Yalira walked twenty meters ahead, scouting. Her tail swept low to the sand, scanning for threats. Her ears twitched at every shift in the wind.
They had been moving for six hours.
Owen's legs burned. His CE reserves sat at 4,200, he'd been suppressing his own signature to match Gorvax's, making them harder to track. The cost was a constant drain, slow and steady.
"How're you holding up?" Yalira called back, voice low.
"Fine."
"Liar."
Owen smirked despite the exhaustion. "Yeah."
She slowed, falling back to walk beside him. Her amber eyes flicked to Gorvax's slack face. The Vexari's abyss-black eyes were closed, his blue skin paler than usual from blood loss. The deep lines around his mouth had hollowed further in the past day.
