“Time to go, it’s not safe here anymore.”

The Iron katra that encases his hands dissolves, flaking off into the air and becoming nothing.

The three thri-kreen chitter at each other, their antennae twitching back and forth. I can tell their arguing, and I can also guess what they are arguing about.

Should we head back to Hive or continue on our journey towards Parasan?

If I had to guess, we are about half to Parasan, though I don’t know for sure. The fact that the sandship is no longer operational is also bad, as it will probably lengthen our journey by a day or two.

Kamar looks down at me, the creases in his face seeming to deepen in the shadowy night. “Do you think you can walk?”

I think about it for a second, and nod, starting to get to my feet. I stumble as the deck sways beneath me, and Kamar stops me from falling with one of his hands. He rumbles a chuckle, “Hard headed doesn't do you justice. I’ll carry you.”

He lays me back down on the mat, and I glare at him. I can walk, just need a few minutes to stop the ship moving.

Though, I think it might be a pretty bad concussion. I’d probably need to see a healer if I want to get back on my feet anytime soon. I sigh inwardly, and I don’t have a spark to my name.

I look over to the thri-kreen, who are arguing quite animatedly, if you call the furious twitching of antenna, hissing and chittering animate. I imagine it is a rather heated debate.

I glance at Kamar, “What should we do?”

His extra, smaller and more dexterous pair of arms unfold from his chest, and he taps them together, thinking. He says quietly, “I think we should press on to Parasan, I frankly don’t want to be in that Hive any longer than necessary. I saw some disturbing things while there.”

I stop myself from nodding my head, making a affirmative noise instead. Most of the stories about thri-kreen… are less than flattering.

The thri-kreen stop their argument, and from the body language of the elder, he lost.

The old thri-kreen leans on it’s staff, walking up to us. He motions for me to hold out my hand, and I open my palm for him to trace on.

I say them out loud for Kamar’s benefit, “We are returning to the Hive, I would recommend you come with us.”

Kamar shakes his head in a negative, saying, “It would be best for us to continue, even if it is on foot.”

The elder thri-kreen shakes his head, then continues tracing on my palm. “I would advise you against it, the predators before were only a taste of the dangers the desert holds. On foot, it is a two day trek to Parasan, but with Karidin injured, it may well take three.”

I look the Elder in his multifaceted eyes, “We are going to continue.”

He nods sadly, letting go of my hand. He reaches into one of his large, gray, baggy sleeves and pulls out a coin pouch.

Where is he hiding all these things? First the goggles, and now a small coin purse.

He tosses it in my lap, and taps his chitin covered head with a finger. For my head.

He points out in the direction the sandship was moving. Parasan.

The elder points over to a barrel that has been strapped to the deck, and motions taking a swig. Water.

Then he points at a small crate that is strapped down next to the water barrel, miming eating. Food.

I pick up the small bag of coin, and after a ew tries, untie it. Inside sparkles a handful of sparks, and two dragoons. Not a fortune, but it could pay for healing, though only enough after that for one night at a inn.

I say to the elder thri-kreen, gently bowing my head, “This one thanks you.”

The elders nods, bowing back. He then hobbles away, back to the two other thri-kreen who have finished packing a bag of food.

I watch as they leap off the edge of the sandship, bounding over a dune and vanishing past its crest.

Looking over to Kamar, I say, “Just us now.”

He grunts, picking up his backpack and prying the lid off the crate. Inside are wrapped bundles of dried meat and other rations.

I rest my spinning head to the boards, looking over at the two pulverized corpses of the wurms.

They are usually more active at night, prefering to sunbathe in the day, from what I can remember. The vibrations and sound from the explosion must have drawn them.

If it had caught their attention, I didn’t want to stick around any longer and wait for something nastier to show up.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

I consider the idea of taking the beast’s cores, but decide that I would rather not try routing around in the red mush that is now their organs.

Kamar lumbers back into my view, capping a large water pouch. He hangs it next to another one on his pack. That looks heavy.

“How do you plan to carry me with that on your back?” I ask, looking at the pack that is now filled to bursting.

Kamar reaches up to the second sail, and with a mighty heave, tears the wooden beam from it along with the tarp. He rolls it out on the ground, rumbling, “A stretcher. I’ll drag you, though I won’t promise a comfortable ride.”

I laugh a little, “So your now dragging me around?”

Kamar continues to work on the makeshift stretcher, tying together broken poles with rope and cloth. “It would seem so.”

I store the coin pouch in a breast pocket hidden in the folds of my clothes. Speaking of money…

I look over to the halm of the sandship, but am disappointed with what I see. A empty pedestal stands there, the scripts along its sides dark and no longer powered. I guess they took it with them.

Kamar stands up, dragging a not very pretty stretcher. It is made from the white cloth of the sails, broken beams and rope. But it does look like he made it sturdy.

Without ceremony, he picks me up and lays me down on the stretcher. “You’d better hold on if you don’t want to slide off.”

He points to two rope handles on either side of the makeshift stretcher. I grab onto them.

It is a little longer than my height, and there is a beam for my feet to rest on, the canvas acting as a sort of hammock.

Kamar takes another loop of rope and ties the pack to the foot of the stretcher. I rest my legs on the backpack. This might get uncomfortable after a while.

Kamar ties a strip of rope around my waist, making sure it’s snug. “Just so you don’t fall off. Is there anything else?”

I slowly shake my head no.

Kamar grunts and lumbers off to the edge of the sandship, dragging the stretcher and me behind him. He sets them down near the edge, hopping off.

The wood creaks as his weight leaves the deck, and he hops down into the sand.

With a few careful pulls, he carries me on the stretcher off deck and into the sand. I wince as the stretcher lands roughly in the sand, the vibrations running up into my head and back.

I think one of my ribs is broken too. I feel around on my left side, and pain blooms on one of my upper ribs. Yep, broken.

Kamar picks up the stretcher’s handles and starts dragging it behind him as we leave the sandship behind.

I watch the broken ship vanish behind a dune as we continue on into the cold, desert night.

Sighing, I look up at the starry sky. I can see the moon above, shining stars painted across the sky around it.

I listen to the sand as the stretcher is pulled through it, leaving twin trails in the sand. Kamar effortlessly pulls us onwards, and I stay quiet for a while, thinking.

I need to be more cautious about my katra. If I had hit that sail in the wrong way, I have no doubt my neck would be broken. Or my new flexibility might have saved me.

I speak up after a while, “Hey, Kamar. Can I ask you something?”

He grunts, steadily trodding through the night.

I’ll take that as a yes.

“How do you form those constructs? Like the Steel katra gauntlets?”

I listen to his breathing for a few seconds, intent on getting an answer. He answers after about a minute. “The Ironworks Path is mainly about Forging temporary constructs. We do have our Spirit Smiths, and they can make some truly impressive constructs out of Iron katra, but the warriors mainly focus on making temporary ones to aid us.

“How the warriors mainly do it is mainly by studying actual smithing. To help us understand the intricacies of iron and steel. As you know, katra aspects are imitations of real things, but in an energy based form that the user can control. So, when I use a technique, I am also picturing an image of a pair of gauntlets being formed. If that makes sense.”

I look at the starry sky, mulling over what he said. Could it really be that simple? I just have to develop a Technique?

I say to him, “That makes sense.”

Kamar chuckles a little, “Thinking about how to use your katra?”

“Yes. I think it’s best suited to forging things.”

Kamar grunts, “You might be able to make a caster based technique too.”

Puzzled, I ask, “Caster? You mean ranged techniques?”

“Yeah. Like what you did to blow yourself up with.”

I nod. Like with the Talri warriors’ lightning strikes.

We continue on through the cool desert, and I listen to the wind and sand, trying to catch any sound from approaching predators. I look out at the ocean of rising and falling dunes. So, this is Rua.

I keep my cycling technique going, the pressure in my chest ever present, like a weight on my lungs. I have gotten used to it by now, and the pressure is nothing more than a little nuisance.

I let go of the right rope handle, holding up my black bandaged arm. I hadn’t gotten a good look at it since I had awoken.

Where my sleeve once was is now charred fabric, no cloth remains under my elbow. The black bandages are still now, and I flex my hand, testing to see if the is any inhibition. Nothing.

I can remember getting a look at my hand before I passed out. The charred flesh underneath after the bandages had been blown off. I’m not so sure if I want to see whats under them anymore.

I can only assume that they are either suppressing my pain or have healed my hand.

I roll up my charred sleeve, and suppress the urge to scream. It’s past my elbow now!

Before, the bandages had reached up to my elbow, but that was it. Now though, the reach about a third of the way up my upper arm.

What 303 said about the demonic astral pops back into my mind. I don’t like this.

I don’t know if the bandages are going to keep going up my arm, or if they will stay there, but I don’t like it. This might just be a function of them, and they are healing my arm, or it might continue to spread upwards.

Disturbed, I let my sleeve fall back down. I flex my hand, and command the bandages to uncoil.

Three uncoil from my arm, waving about in the air. I focus my will harder, urging them to come off.

Several more of the bandages uncoil, floating aimlessly around in the air. But that is all that happens.

Relaxing my will, the bandages recoil around my arm, rustling quietly into place.

I’m just going to have to live with it for now. And hope this isn't something sinister.