past

Not even the friction of rubbing her hands together was enough to spark a bit of heat into them. Kleio Gerathy, the Prophet of Avadiel, tugged her cloak tighter around her body and fought the urge to shiver. Shivering won outright without much of a fight. Pressing the journal spread across her lap firmly against her legs to hold her place, she scooted closer to the fire. It did little more than tease her with warmth that was quickly leached away by her sunburned skin.

Irregular shapes rose around them in the darkness- towers of stone shaped by wind, sand, water, and time, protecting them from the open wind and blowing sand just outside the natural arch that served as the unofficial entry into their camp. When she had spied it just before sunset on the first day, recognizing it from t...

Please subscribe to keep reading.