The ridge was quiet when Ezra returned. The bodies of the scouts were gone. Varen had dragged them down into the ravine, burying them under loose shale. There would be no evidence of the skirmish except for the broken antennas and the dead generator smoking in the cold air. Ezra wiped the obsidian knife on his trousers. The blood was already stiff. He sheathed it and began the climb down.
The camp below was waking. Smoke curled from the chimneys of the new huts. The stone wall gleamed in the dawn light, grey and solid. It looked like it had grown out of the sand rather than been built. Ezra paused halfway down the slope. He put his hand on the rock face. It vibrated. A low hum that traveled up his arm and settled in his chest. It wasn't the wind. It was the earth breathing.
He reached th
