The twilight deepened into a cold, ink-blue night. That turned the high cliffs of the Saltglass quarry into towering black walls against the glittering expanse of stars.
Behind the command wagon on the high eastern limestone shelf, Kezra Venn sat on an overturned grain barrel, her head in her hands. Her shoulders shook with a mixture of bone-deep fatigue and lingering fight-or-flight rush. Beside her, Paxa Sel stood with a steaming heavy clay bowl of thick, salted barley porridge cooked with shredded dried mutton. She held a horn spoon ready in her hand.
“Eat it,” Paxa commanded, thrusting the warm bowl into Kezra’s lap. “Every mouthful. And drink this cup of boiled water before you take another breath.”
Kezra took the wooden cup with trembling hands, drinking the warm water in three deep, grateful swallows. Her mouth was dry as bitter salt dust, her tongue swollen from hours of shouting commands across the sun-baked stone. The warmth of the water hit her stomach like an internal fire, easing the tight cramp in her chest muscle.
She took the horn spoon and began eating the porridge. The rich, salty mutton fat and the soft, roasted barley tasted incredible. It sent an immediate wave of healing medicine energy into her exhausted muscles.
