The screech from an owl above jolts Caleb’s eyes open. His body jerked, a reflex he couldn’t control. For a second, he forgot where he was.

He realized how long he’d been sitting there, eyes clenched shut, his back pressed against a gnarled juniper tree. Hours? Maybe longer. He hadn’t moved since the screams stopped.

Darkness has enveloped the lifeless desert. Stars and a half-crescent moon are the only things illuminating mass expanse. Caleb looks towards the trail where the man was being pulled. Nothing is left but the tracks of the bay horse and the stream of disturbed dirt where the screaming man once was.

Caleb’s hand trembles as he pulls out his flask, the hollow feeling in his stomach reminding him of his duty to the card he possesses. He lights a cigarette to smooth the remainder of his nerves.

Every sound in the desert seemed amplified, the whisper of wind through the sagebrush, the rustle of some unseen creature scurrying across the sand. Each noise made his muscles tighten, his eyes darting into the shadows.

“I need to get to Whispering Sands,” Caleb muttered. His voice sounded small, almost like a child’s. “I’m a dead man out here.”

He pushed himself up, his legs stiff from sitting so long. He gathered his things, checking his pistol before slinging his pack over his shoulder. His boots crunched softly in the dirt as he stepped out of the cover of the tree

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The desert stretched out before him, an endless sea of shadows and whispers. It felt alive in a way that made his skin crawl, like the land itself was watching him. The stars above seemed too bright, too sharp, like they were silently judging him.

Caleb took a deep breath and started walking.

The trail stretched on, an endless ribbon of dust and rocks. Caleb kept his pistol drawn, the weight of it a small comfort in his hand. He didn’t trust the stillness, didn’t trust the silence.

He flinched at every noise. When a jackrabbit darted out from a bush, his finger twitched on the trigger, but he managed to stop himself.

Hours passed. The moon climbed higher, then began its slow descent. Caleb’s legs ached, and his throat was raw from the dry air. He stopped for a moment, leaning against a boulder, and noticed a small mouse scurrying nearby.

Caleb felt a shock of fear jolt through him as he watched the innocent rodent run by. He freezes, for a second, realizing that his gun was pointed where the mouse had just been.

He starts to laugh.

“I’m more scared than a mouse,” Caleb said aloud, his voice shaky but growing steadier. He holstered his pistol and shook his head. “This little guy has got nothing but his wits, and he’s fine out here. I’ve got a gun; I’ve got a card. Get it together, Caleb.”

He pushed off the boulder, his steps firmer now.

The trail took a slight curve, and Caleb felt a faint breeze against his face. It carried with it a new smell—smoke, faint but unmistakable. His heart quickened.

He followed the scent, his pace quickening. Soon, he saw it: a faint glow on the horizon. His chest swelled with a mix of relief and determination.

“Whispering Sands,” he said to himself, the words grounding him.