In the Lorr Desert

They never did resolve the issue of the caravan. In some ways, it was a moot point until they found a caravan. But the road they were taking in the desert from the pass was not so remote that they could expect to travel completely alone for much longer. Soon it would meet with other trails to form the main Lorr trading corridor, and they would have to actively avoid the caravans for the two weeks they planned to follow it north. They were traveling at a pace that would lead them to overtake any normal travelers currently on the vast stretch of rocks and sand, and it was early enough in the year that there would still be regular trading parties moving along the route. Eventually, they would need to decide.

It was hard for him to revisit the issue seriously with Valla though. Their current balance was comfortable, but he did not know how stable it was. To be honest, part of their balance was him being constantly off-balance. She acted like a child, by turns whiny and stubborn then cheerful and teasing, and it was impossible for him to keep up. He hadn’t seen an adult act this way before and hadn't even dealt with any actual children since his sister. The order was not a place for jokes or joy or selfishness, all of which Valla exulted in as they traveled through the first parts of the desert. She actually stuck her tongue out at him at one point, which startled him enough that he stumbled. Which had then resulted in her laughing at him for what felt like an hour but he knew was only a quarter-hour.

Their journey was cold, the winter turning the already dangerously chilled desert nights into punishingly frigid darkness. They moved by magelight, and rested under tarps in the day, staying just cool enough to sleep. And Valla did sleep now. During his shifts, Doren Watched for the elemental, but without any real expectation of sensing them. He did not want to admit to himself how much Valla's willingness to rest influenced his mood, but seeing her willing to relax her guard was comforting. They were no longer being hunted. And if he were honest with himself – which he wasn’t – it felt like an expression of her trust in him.

On their fifth night after their encounter with the elemental, the wind had begun to pick up, dry air parching their skin and raising dust devils to wind among the red-toned rocks. The gusts promised more than a simple dust storm. Even in his Sight, Doren could see the raw power of a squall coming up from the southwest, heavy with rain that could wash them away along with the loose desert rocks and sand, but neither he nor Valla spoke the obvious. Instead, Valla started talking, telling him a story about a mouse that loved an owl for its beautiful eyes. They were moving more quickly, though, not that it would help. By Doren's best guess, they had maybe a day and a half before it would hit. Their luck was spectacularly bad. He had been worried about desert packs, bandits, or a confrontation with a defensive caravan guard too knowledgeable or too well-Sighted to ignore them, but instead, they found themselves under attack by the sky. A rainstorm like that only came once a decade. If they survived, they would see a desert transformed from an otherworldly wasteland into vitality and vibrancy. It was unlikely they would. The caverns were to the northwest of them, and they could try to avoid the storm by running westward now but leaving the Paving for so long was likely to kill them before the storm even arrived. All they could do was race northward, and pray the storm would shift eastward.

"The mouse wasn't like you at all, Doren," Valla said, interrupting his thoughts. "Not practical. But maybe if you were a mouse, you would also be impractical, but for a songbird."

Doren turned and met her eyes, eyebrows raised. She grew more animated at his response, her demeanor growing more performative, eyes dancing. "A songbird! You wouldn't love an owl for its eyes, but maybe you would love a songbird for its songs. Although then the story might end happily... That won't do. You would have to be a ladybug if your love was a songbird."

He had to respond even if only to stop her from rambling further. "It astonishes me how steadily you can spout nonsense. Is this a skill you learned as a bard? I thought you said you were a master storyteller and compelling musician, not an incompetent jester."

"Firstly, I never claimed not to be a jester, and I take issue with being called incompetent at nonsense. I am a highly skilled nonsense-peddler. And secondly, I didn't need to learn anything in a tavern or on a perch. I was born with this exceptional talent at nonsense."

Doren shot her a dour look. "I think I was born with this talent," she corrected herself, dragging out the words. "But you should know I was likely also born an exceptional musician and storyteller. I was born to be a bard and a jester, my good sir."

Doren only huffed, distracted momentarily as a gust of now-humid wind prompted him to scan the storm with his Sight more closely. It was still moving northward steadily, its path aligned with theirs. They had another sixty miles* before they would reach the turn. They could move west or east now and brave the sands but leaving the magically reinforced paving* was a potentially suicidal choice. The dunes were treacherous beyond the markers, always moving rapidly, but especially as the winds grew faster. They had crossed some of the raw sands on their way to meet the path without incident before, but to leave now as the edges of the storm line reached them was a greater risk than to try and survive the full brunt of the tempest on the path itself. This was almost certainly what they would have to do, with the edge of the cyclone moving rapidly up behind them. The clouds moved sideways as the front came up onto their path, the enormous cyclone corkscrewing across the sky beyond their mundane view as it slid inexorably toward them. Doren Watched it, the brilliant aether swirl massively, the size beyond his imagination and the Sight beyond his comprehension.

"Pay a penny and I can sing you a song, ladybug. Dealer's choice." Valla cut through his thoughts in a sickly-sweet voice, lilting and irritating.

"Why would I pay a penny, then?" Doren looked sideways at her, ignoring the new nickname.

"Because you will, if it's for a song." Like quicksilver settling heavily into stillness, Valla's mirth turned solemn.

Doren just rolled his eyes - an insidious habit of Valla's he had picked up the more she needled at him. He was growing more childish by the day. "I will pay a nonsense penny to the nonsense peddler."

"Ha! So unreasonable. Nonsense is too valuable to be bought with nonsense." With that, she swung her lute over her shoulder, settling into a slower pace. Doren clenched his fist, hidden from Valla. He didn't disagree with her choice to slow down - he had had the same thought. Moving so fast in the rising storm would exhaust them, and it was clear now it would not change course and miss them. They could not outrun it as it accelerated towards them. They should keep gaining distance in case the storm's trajectory shifted even slightly away from the path, but at a steady pace, conserving their strength for withstanding the storm once it arrived. Up to now, Doren hadn't yet taken real offense at her controlling their choices, but as the elements raged around him, his frustration rose. This was a choice they should make together, but here she was playing him songs to pacify him, without any discussion or courtesy. Like he was a child, not a warrior and companion on a hard road. His emotions were in turmoil, and he dropped his Sight without realizing it, focusing on her in his annoyance.

"I see pulsing in the air; The beat brings color and light, the lilting heart liquid, in comfort and hunger, with sadness and bitter, sweet waiting and terror," Valla sang in a rolling rhythm, soft and carrying. She took an angled step, bringing herself closer to him, the wind rising around them an accompaniment to her exertion- and sand-roughened voice. "Slowing and speeding down, periwinkle and rose, shifting into scarlet; Silence brings chill and breath holds still, the next rolls in after, newly cast into the shadows,"

Doren hadn't heard the song before, but it felt familiar, like something he had seen or known when he was very young but not thought of since. The song was soothing as the rage built up around them, the wind whining constantly now. He stopped, and she cut off.

"We will go slowly from here and will make camp once the wind-wall is an hour away." As he said this, he pulled out thin strips of linen and handed her one, tying his across his eyes to avoid making eye contact with her. He was a razor's edge from throwing what was no more than a tantrum. The eyeguards would protect them from the sand that would soon be moving fast enough could blind them. She shrugged, and he knew without looking her eyes twinkling. "You're the boss." He bit back a retort and pulled another cloth from his pack to cover the lower half of his face as she tied her own eyeguard and pulled up her scarf around her mouth and nose. She started onward before he was done tying his, singing again but with the lute now packed away, voice dying slowly but surely as she did. "Sibilant, clarified, rushing in eddies 'round, not the light, I see fish silvering, green and fast through the shade; the old beat brings color..." Doren held in a scoff, and caught up to her, reveling in the music despite himself. He had faced worse odds at survival, but never with a bard.