Above us, the dawn sky stretched pale blue, the last stars disappeared. We had marched all night. It was easier thus, with so little water. Now we camped in a steep wadi whose sheltering walls would give us some respite from the sun. I took my helmet off and scrubbed my whole left hand across my sweat-damp hair. Sati had already pitched our tent and was putting a handful of lentils to soak in a scant handful of water. Sikander was playing in the dust beside her, one little hand clasped around a pretty stone. The horses drowsed heads down in the picket line. We would have some rest before the next night's grueling march. I turned because Ghost Dancer had suddenly gone up on his hind legs, fighting Hephaistion's groom. I started toward him, wondering what was wrong as he jerked the bridle from the boy's hand and took off at a full gallop, his long, lean legs covering ground. Behind him, I saw it, a sudden puff of vapor in the air up the wadi and behind it a rolling sound like thunder.
