The desert was hot. No, that wasn't right. The desert was scorching hot. The Twins beat down upon the boy's head like hammers fresh from the forge. They battered away at his strength, even as he used resonance to rebuild it. While the rust-colored dirt of the Red Barrens absorbed heat, the sands seemed to reflect it. The ground was sweltering. He trod upon the surface of an oven.

The desert was also empty. There were no trees to take cover beneath, to wait out the hottest parts of the day. There were no grey crags nor empty caves. There were no faults in the earth to shelter in. The boy could only endure, minute by minute, hour by hour, as he trudged across the desert sand.

He had not been given a deadline to meet. His teacher had not mentioned any particular need for haste, though he hadn't been delusional enough to think, at the time, that she would wait forever. The desert was vast, but it wasn't endless. The boy could cover ground quickly, when needed. He couldn't imagine it taking him longer than a turn or two, no matter how great the distance.

He'd solved his food issue; the problem, now, was water. He had a small canteen, filled to the brim, but that would last him days at best. Before now, his teacher had provided refills, The boy hadn't the slightest clue where she'd produced them from, though he now suspected that the Keeper could somehow create water, just as easily as he could fire.

The boy's water supply would last him a few days more. A quarter-turn, at most. Beyond that, he ran the risk of simply dropping from dehydration. His body needed water, the same as it needed food. Deserts, unfortunately, were not the most conducive to water.

He quietly cursed his own lack of foresight. When harvesting the meat, he had thought only to leave as quickly as possible. His mind had been lost in the present, not planning for the future. He should have waited, hidden for more scavengers to arrive. If he had managed to down a smaller prey, he could have discovered where they went for water. That opportunity was now lost to him.

Which meant he needed to continue to hunt. The strips of snake meat that were now tied across his waist like a belt had whispered to him the Memory of an oasis that the deceased creature frequented. The boy wasn't certain if his heart could handle visiting somewhere that the local apex predators regularly made appearances, even if the place hadn't been nearly a full-turn's trek in the wrong direction. He thought. It was hard to exactly estimate these kinds of things.

Regardless, the information gave him a clear path to survival. He needed to hunt another animal—something normal-sized, and manageable—and track down where it went to drink. Once again, the boy's knowledge here was lacking. He'd trained his whole life to fight in war. Two armies, filled with mostly humanoid opponents, doing their best to kill each other. And even then, his education was mostly incomplete. The boy simply hadn't learned his family's technique fast enough. If he had grasped it even a few months earlier, his father could have continued his teaching...

He shook his head violently, chasing away dark thoughts. Nothing good came from dwelling on the past. He believed that, with all his being. To move forward, constantly, without regrets. That was what a man did. It was why he hadn't yet attempted the meditation that the Keeper had recommended. What use was it, to think about things he could no longer change? Better to keep his mind in the present. That was what he told himself.

Instead, he practiced his resonance, and pondered the technique that Eurya had imparted upon him. Last night had proved to him that his combat abilities needed a drastic jump if he was going to survive the harsh land that he was traversing. While his teacher's technique wasn't directly applicable to hunting wildlife, the concept behind it intrigued the boy. It was, at its heart, nothing more than a twist on his family's technique. Or perhaps, given his teacher's age, it was more accurate to say that his family's technique was a twist on her own. Either way, its existence was a bit of a revelation for the boy.

It was such a simple idea, but he would have never, ever considered it. Mostly because, on the surface, it seemed impossible. It spoke to a fundamental understanding of something the boy took for granted. Memory manipulation was something he had rarely thought about; he had been so intensely focused on mastering his family's single technique.

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That was a mistake, he could admit. He was proud of his family, the accomplishments that littered his lineage, but he was no longer under the delusion that they were the peak of existence. He'd seen proof of that. A warrior could not fight with clouded eyes. The boy could admit it when he was mistaken. He'd simply have to rise up to meet these new challenges.

His ancestors were not quite as powerful as he had imagined. That was fine. The boy would serve in their place. New horizons had opened up to him, an opportunity created by his father's connections and his own stubbornness. He would not shame his family by squandering it. He would not be the Hero Who Did Nothing. He would innovate, and expand, and master new techniques. And, one day, he would pass them down to his children.

The resolution filled him with inspiration. Ideas flowed like water, an interesting paradox in a desert. He began to train as he walked, falling into his old morning routine with barely a thought. It was a familiar tactic, one that he used to maintain his resonance, though he hadn't needed to physically mimic the actions since before he'd left the Red Barrens. It was a form of meditation that the boy could get behind. It cleared his mind of everything but the sword, pushing aside his pointless worries and unnecessary thoughts.

His goal was an ambitious one. He would take his teacher's technique, and expand it even further. Eurya's mastery of Memory manipulation allowed her to read another's Memory through a single exchange of blows. She then used resonance to quickly grasp their style, and her own immense skill to dissect its weaknesses.

The boy did not have her skill, so he planned to go one step further. He wouldn't simply search an opponents style for weaknesses, he planned master the style itself! It would take longer, certainly. It wasn't even particularly combat-viable, as mastering another's fighting style would take time. He'd probably be forced to stick with some variation Eurya's technique, to actually win each battle. That was fine. He didn't need to win quickly. He simply needed to last long enough to make a solid enough Memory connection. One that he could restore it later, even after his opponent was defeated. That way, every enemy he faced would feed him their strength in an almost literal fashion!

He would cackle if his throat wasn't so dry.

Unfortunately, those dreams of his were far, far away from reality. He would need to further train his basic Memory reading, before he could pull off something so grandiose. That said, the desert provided him a perfect opportunity for practice. His feet sank into the sand up to his ankles with each stride. It was a slow, tedious slog, that required more strength than it did focus. So with the more active part of his mind, he delved into the Memory of his surroundings once more.

Each grain of sand, though ancient, was nearly insignificant in their impact upon the world. Their Memories held nothing of note, endless decades of tedium, bounced to and fro by the wind and shifting dunes, interrupted by brief brushes against the living. The desert held life, it was true, but each grain was so small, and their numbers so numerous, that it took the better part of a day for the boy to read a Memory of something alive, that had brushed past recently.

It was a vague image: a hoof, and a few tufts of fur. The creature seemed no larger than a horse—it might be a horse, though the boy couldn't see how one could survive these conditions—and had passed by no more than a few hours ago. The boy licked his dry lips, and followed.

The Twins were on the descent, now, and night would soon follow. The boy presumed that the creature would be bedding down for the night. With any luck, he could sneak up on it. Darkness was the only real cover in the desert. He pushed forward with increasing speed, seeking to close the distance.

Stealth was not an issue, but scent might be. The boy had followed his teacher's advice, keeping the wind at his back and letting it guide him forward. This had the notable downside of making hunting irritatingly difficult. Most beasts had senses that dwarfed his own, and he had no practical way of erasing his scent. He could only hope that his particular odor was foreign enough to his prey that they would disregard it. He pressed onward.

The Twins dipped over the horizon just as the Memory of the desert sand whispered to him that he was nearing his quarry. The creature, whatever it was, had passed his current location mere minutes ago. He slowed his pace, keeping a steady grip on his sword. Selene cast the world in twilight, and he crested the next dune under the cover of darkness.

His prey lay before him, a creature both intensely strange, yet oddly familiar. It was shaped like a horse, with four legs capped by hooves, and a long neck. Its body was smaller and leaner, less bulky than the hardy destrier's that Farathun favored. It had a thick mane running the length of its neck, that hung almost down to its chest. The head was where the resemblance began to falter. Its head, though shaped like that of a horse, was formed of bleached white bone. There was no fur, save for that of its thick mane, which cast over the creature's eyes. And, embedded in the bridge of the creature's snout, was a large pink sac, covered by a thin layer of green. A sensory organ, the boy assumed.

Not that he could test that conclusion. The creature was dead.

Courtesy of a long, thin spear, jutting out from its side.

The boy's grip on his weapon tightened. He was not as alone as he had first assumed.