Streamers of iodine and purple clouds laced the sky, wispy fingers that did nothing to hold back night's progress. Frost waved a weary hand at the horde of insects that buzzed around her face, in her ears. The plain that fostered no other life was a home for countless varieties of insects: ants, beetles, roaches, but most especially, gnats. Great swarms, they hung like thick curtains over the rocky soil. Man and animal suffered alike. Attracted to the sweat of their bodies, the gnats had bedeviled them all afternoon. Nothing to do but bear it and try not to breathe too often—or swallow. “It gets colder with nightfall,” Kregan called. “They'll go away, then." She took no comfort in that. With the coming of darkness she feared a new attack by Zarad-Krul. They had beaten him once, but she would not count on such luck a second time. They had not made good speed. The animals were tired. So was she. Her thighs ached painfully from too much riding, her half-numb fingers tangled in Ashur's mane.
