When next he woke, he knew immediately that he was not in the same place. The fire was gone, the rock overhang was gone, even the smooth stone beneath him was gone. Instead, he found himself in a desert, sand stretching before him for as far as the eye could see, the sunlight making ripples appear on the ground that weren't really there.

He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, and the urge to move ran through him. He obeyed sooner this time, taking a step forward: immediately something thumped into his leg and he looked down to find that he had a sword strapped to his waist. A real sword, like the ones that the Rulers carried, the likes of which Hoya had never touched before. He reached down to touch the handle, wrapped with leather worn smooth by use, then pulled his hand away. He would be more likely to hurt himself than do any good with it, and so he left it alone and turned to check the bag hanging from his back.

It wasn't of a make he recognized: it was long and slender with a drawstring at one end. The strong came out and looped over his right shoulder, then down under his left arm to attack to the bottom of the bag. Something long, hard, and slender was within the confines of the small bag, but even as he began to draw the string up over his head so he could investigate the bag, a shrill scream cut through the air and he froze.

He ought to go see if the screamer needed help, and yet the old man's reaction gave him pause. Would this be yet another thankless effort? Another scream sounded, this one seeming closer, with a cry for help at the end, and Hoya's mind was made up. Let them curse him afterward all they would, he couldn't just stand by and let someone be harmed.

Breaking into an awkward run, he struggled up the side of a large sand dune, the unsteady footing giving him more trouble than he had thought he would have. By the time he reached the top he was winded and he had scraped the palm of his left hand on the course sand. Those grievances left his mind almost immediately as he looked down at the situation unfolding below him.

Something, a creature too unearthly for his mind to make sense of, towered over a human figure who had fallen to the sands. Even from the distance between them Hoya could tell that the boy was injured, blood coloring the sands around him red, but he still tried to dodge the creature's advances. Without a second thought, Hoya lunged into action, the tumbling sand only expediting his trip down the side of the dune as his right hand drew the sword from its scabbard. He might not have experience with it, but he sure felt better having it in his hands as he reached the beast.

It stood twice his height and probably five times his width, with long arms of which the knuckles nearly brushed the ground, three thick fingers and a thumb protruding from it. It was fac