The passage he found had been a stairwell at one point, but was damaged in the fighting. He fought his way up it, wriggling through tiny spaces left by crumbling rock. It was hard, painful work, but without his link, he had no alternative. Sweat poured from him as he pulled himself out of the crevasse to lie gasping upon a rocky ledge that looked out over the Desert of Dust. His clothes were dirty and torn, his fingers scraped and bloodied. He could not remember hurting so badly in all of his consciousness. Agar was going to pay for this. He lay baking in the sun on a dais of wind-worn sandstone, and held a hand up weakly to shield his eyes from the sun’s blazing orb. It helped for a moment. Blinking, he saw the desert lie brown and dry to his north and west, and that mountains rose to his south and east. His stomach grumbled. He was hungry. It was an embarrassment to feel such crude human needs. And, now that he was settling in, he realized his odor was something atrocious. Why him?
What do You think about Lords Of Existence (Book 8)?
