At the end of the second day of travelling through the towering dunes, the fine sand turned to gravel, and then finally to shale.

The terrain flattened, whilst broken, pale red stones pushed through. The passages between were filled with sharp, shattered slate. Until at last they had difficulty traversing by the winds alone.

Sandhailer pulled the craft into a narrow chasm between the red stones. Dry vegetation began to peek through near the dark edges. As the sun began to fall behind them, the plants occasionally rustled in the breeze. 

After a long while of dragging and towing, with Swordeater occasionally aiding despite his wound, Sandhailer deemed one of the many winding side passages remote enough to hide the sandcraft in. The sailer was secured with ropes to the rocky outcrops, while any important supplies were brought along.

It took several hours to make their way through the passages, aided only by Sandhailer's light-maker.  The bright flicker sprung between the silver ends, buzzing like angry insects. The harsh glow was not unlike the lightning of coastal storms, except for the dull celadon hue. 

When the path finally widened, they looked out over a distant valley of lush vegetation. Moon-silver waters wound and crawled in endless twists through the fields. In the furthest distance, white spires shimmered like crystal needle tips: the very tallest towers of Jawhara’s many palaces.

Swordeater stepped up onto a nearby flat rock jutting out from the landscape, and stared into the distance.

"How I've missed this sight." He said softly, sighing with a deep yearning. "When we arrive I will show you the inner gardens. They are gorgeous, unlike anything you have ever seen."

"I have seen many things." Sandhailer returned, but it only prompted a smile from Swordeater.

"I assure you, nothing comes close to this my friend. Not the marble baths in Midaq, nor the ancient temples in Aldhira."

A sweeping gesture and a grin added to his conviction, which prompted a small head shake from Sandhailer.

"Although I will miss you, and our long, riveting conversations."

He glared at Swordeater, with the usual steadfast intensity. The latter smiled widely, but as he averted his gaze the grin fell. For a moment he appeared uncertain.

"Wouldn't you sit alongside me for our meal as a friend though, just once? I know that I'm not an ideal travel partner, but I am grateful – truly. And I want to end this journey as equals." Swordeater pleaded with a genuine smile.

Sandhailer wasn't sure how to respond to that, and whether he wanted to pretend like they were equal. A part of him was wary, knowing that in that city the man held far more power than he did. Perhaps out here, on the outskirts and beneath the open skies, he could still set aside those vast differences for one evening.

He had longed for a friend – but would never admit to that. So he simply nodded, acquiescing to the request.

A moment later he sat down on the edge of the stone, handing Swordeater the last of their rations and sharing his flask. His fingers drifted to his mask while Swordeater took a swig. They rested on the fabric for a long moment. 

"It would be hard to drink through that." Swordeater said with a smile, as he handed him the flask. "But if you do not want to show me your face, I understand."

That answer surprised him a little, not expecting genuine sympathy.

"I have not told you my name either." The man continued, smiling apologetically.

He shook his head, since that was not the issue – and he didn't mind not knowing his name. It was simpler that way.

With a deep sigh and fuelled by frustration he pulled the mask loose, uncovering his face. Plain, or so he presumed; pale, with a scraggly beard from their past week of travelling; and through the hairs a white, marred brand was visible on his right jowl.

"I have no name. And I do not know where I am from." He said, as he saw Swordeater's eyes widen in recognition of the slave mark. "All I remember is being taken when I was young. Passed around by royals like exotic treasure. Until I grew too old for their tastes and was thrown to the desert as a deviant. For ten years it has been my home. Its people call me Sandhailer. That is all." He had expected to be angrier about it – perhaps to shout and emote like he had seen Swordeater do before. But he felt little, as if he was recalling a tale he had heard once instead of his own life. 

Swordeater remained quiet for several moments, staring ahead of himself as he tried to figure out what to say. 

"Thank you." The words confused Sandhailer, but the man smiled gently at him and explained. "For showing me, and telling me. Even after the things I have said."

"You're only ignorant." Sandhailer shrugged, as if he hadn't been worried mere moments before.

"Not anymore. This journey has done more for me than any training or lesson ever has." A hand was laid on his shoulder. It startled him, but Swordeater gave him a hearty shake. "You are a friend to me now, and I will make sure you are welcome in the heart of the city."

There was no more mask to hide his smile, but he didn't mind so much. Instead he folded his arms over one knee and leant forward to watch the distant city.

"I have seen Midaq. Only once. The journey nearly killed me." 

He wasn't good at telling tales, but he could recall the places he had been and the dangers he had encountered. Despite that Swordeater was enthralled, listening and nodding along. Occasionally the man added a tale of his own, about places they had both been. They continued talking even when the air grew cold.