Crossing the Salt Flats

Huarti steps out from the buried chamber into open heat, and the desert swallows the last of the green-gold glow behind him. The salt flats spread wide under a hard white sun, their surface rippling like a pale sea.

Ahead, the Nomad Envoy moves between wind-cut ridges and half-buried stone ribs, glancing back for Huarti to follow. Ealise comes after, her new wardlight trailing softly at her heels like a living shadow.

Huarti crosses the flats with slow, deliberate grace. Each step leaves a faint pressure in the salt, and the desert’s hush bends around him instead of resisting.

The Nomad Envoy stops at a low ridge where weathered markers rise from the sand, and beyond them a caravan track threads toward distant dunes. A new destination waits beyond the flats.

Huarti leaves the ridge behind and moves onto the caravan road itself, his long stride flattening the salt dust into a pale trail. The markers stand closer here, each one carved with old nomad cuts and worn by patient hands.

The road bends between low stone ribs toward a clustered camp of canvas, woven shade, and watchful poles. Huarti arrives under the first line of hanging charms as the camp quiets around him.

Several elders rise from their cushions at the center fire, robes stirring in the dry wind. They do not advance, but they turn fully toward Huarti, making room for him with careful ceremony.

Huarti stands before them in the heat shimmer, the road behind him and the camp before him, as the elders wait in a ring of open silence.