It was one week after he made his vow to deliver the pouch to the Temple of the Maui.

He had been traveling as part of a caravan for the last few days. Thanks to that he would likely make it to the city without any problems with another two or so days of travel. Even so, to call the trip an easy one would be a lie as he wiped away the sweat from his brow and exhaled with a slow, deep breath from within the canvas-hooded wagon.

The air shimmered as everything beneath the golden rays that beat down on the land was baked. The desert air was cruel as it scraped across his face and down his lungs even behind the shade. It plundered the moisture in his throat and skin along the way, leaving them bone dry as well.

The desert was a harsh land. Not an inhospitable one, as survival was entirely feasible. But it was merciless every step of the way to every living thing that treads across it.

He took a sip from his waterskin to slake the aching thirst he felt, fully aware even that would be stolen shortly. It was uncomfortable, but he could manage this much without a word of complaint. It was the least he could do for everything she’d done for him.

“Ugh…can’t believe I got suckered into this job.”

The same couldn’t be said for the stout fellow who was inside of the wagon with him.

The dwarf was dressed unlike any he’d seen along the bottom of the mountains the scant times he visited the city at the base. The loose robes were a deep shade of crimson and black as ink, far finer than any other traveler on the caravan. His six-tailed braided hair was well-groomed and slick, framing his face with the well-trimmed goatee.

He kept complaining while fanning his beard. “Who’d make a habit of living in a place like this?”

“No one said you had to come with me,” called out a feminine voice from behind the canvas covering the opening of the wagon ahead of them, right across from where the dwarf sat on the other side. Then the tip of a bow parted the curtain and revealed the speaker.

She was a ranger as far as he could tell, though the headwear and matching desert cloak obscured the majority of her features barring the set of feline pupils behind her short, brown hair. “We’ll reach one of the oases by evening at this rate, so quit whining and just take a nap, old-timer.”

“That’s no way to show gratitude for keeping you company.” There wasn’t any malice in the words, just a sense of annoyance. “I hope not everyone is as cranky of a kitty as you are.”

Something beneath both her headwear and cloak shifted as she scowled. “I told you not to say that. Calling the wrong maui’en a kitty is liable to get you a knife between the ribs.”

He brushed off the warning with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, yeah, s’alright. Just go back to fiddling with your bow and leave me be.”

She huffed and then withdrew her bow, closing the curtain. The dwarf went back to drinking the contents of his waterskin. The thing never seemed to run out of water, strangely enough.

The monk settled in and welcomed the quiet. Like him, those two were part of the hired escorts meant to fend off any bandits or wildlife that got desperate enough to attack them or their camels along the way. Unlike him, they could see in the dark and so they most often handled guard duty during the night.

So far none of their services had been necessary, though the caravan’s leader had felt they could never be too careful. More than a few caravans had been going missing along their routes. Some suspected banditry, but others suspected the vicious wildlife that could be found along the way.

Not that he’d seen many to speak of.

The route they had been traversing took them through the aridest section of the desert, a straight-line to get from where they began to where they were going. The lack of water this far in meant that the flora he could see were mostly clumps of grasses and the occasional brush plant. Likewise, the animals that he’d managed to spot were mostly small creatures, such as lizards and grasshoppers and mice and weasels—the larger animals would be closer to the mountains and the coast.

Keeping to himself, he watched over the desert lands until the sun that hung overhead mercilessly began to bow its head beyond the horizon. Black and violet hues didn’t hesitate to encroach where the vivid blue above once was the moment its incandescent guardian turned its gaze away. With a rough line of clouds acting as the shrinking vanguard for the warm colors of orange and yellow, soon the night would scatter its diamonds across the dark blanket.

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That was when an oasis came into view.

In the dry and barren landscape, where the wiry and short brush were the only vegetation, it stood out for how it was rimmed with tall trees. The trunks did not have sprawling branches but were instead crowned by large leaves that draped downwards to provide shade from the harsh sun. The rays that managed to penetrate the ceiling greenery served to nourish the abundant grass that was beneath it and shield what looked to be a modest spring of water.

It felt strange even at a distance. Like that patch of land was overflowing with vitality compared to the rest of the arid land surrounding them. It even seemed to call out to him—

TWWWEEEEEEETTTT!

—but before he could reach out with his senses to discern his suspicions, a sharp sound rang out across the entirety of the caravan. It pierced the silence of the desert on the cusp of night’s embrace, the abruptness of it startling the riders and camels alike. Lanterns that had been lit in anticipation of the dark wavered and rattled as every wagon in the caravan came to a stop along the line.

Knowing it was a signal whistle, he reached for his quarterstaff lying flat beneath his seat. Then he climbed out past the dwarf, who was looking around frantically after being jostled awake by the sound. The moment his clothed feet touched the ground he felt the fringes of nature’s power bleeding off from the wellspring of the oasis, but he pushed it back like he’d been taught before it could dig too deeply into his mind.

The ranger from before came into view, her headwear removed to expose her visage in full. Her skin was a slightly tawny hue and her face was rather slender beneath the short, brown hair that matched the fur-coated feline ears atop it as they moved back and forth slightly. The thin-slitted pupils from before had expanded to a rounder shape, rimmed by amber now that night was falling.

Giving him a nod out of courtesy, she then rapped the end of her shortbow against the wagon he’d climbed out of and said, “Wake up, dwarf!”

Said dwarf flipped open the canvas curtain, yawning. “What’s the noise for?”

“We spotted desert jackals closing in on the caravan.”

“All that noise for a bunch of flea-riddled mutts?”

Her eyes seesawed through the darkness. “They’ve apparently gotten aggressive enough to attack entire caravans over the last few months, so the client wants every hired sword out until we reach the oasis. Since most of the others can’t see in the dark, we need you to brighten things up for them. You’re rested enough, right?”

“Yeah, yeah…” He climbed out of the cart, still adorned in his fine clothes. But now he had on a belt wrapped around his stomach that had handaxes hanging off the sides and a tome holster on the back of it. The book’s cover was blackened and charred, with fissures threading the entire thing from a black gemstone affixed in the center of the spine.

Stretching his short body and yawning a final time, the dwarf turned his clay-brown eyes to the lantern hanging nearby and gestured towards it. The flame flickering inside burned brighter, casting the shadows back twice as far. It also tinged the air with somewhat fouler scent, but there were other things to worry about as he tended to the rest of the lanterns.

Since it was only a small caravan, there were only around eight defenders total for the collective. But having a spellcaster adept with fighting in the dark was supposedly the equivalent of having another party with them. Or so the dwarf had boasted.

They would find out soon enough as the final rays of the sinking sun aided the monk in perceiving the shadows skulking further out. The silhouettes reminded him of the wolves that lurked on the mountains where he was raised and trained. Normally the packs had about six to thirteen, and that was a land that could support such numbers.

In this harsh land, where water and food were scarce, the packs should be far smaller than even that. Let alone the dozen that had been counted out by the ranger stalking the caravan. They wouldn’t have such large packs if they were desperate enough to attack a caravan for food.

“AROOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“OWOOOOOOOAAAHHH!”

Then a pair of howls unlike any he’d ever heard before tore through the air. They were deep and drawn out, thickening the tension that hung in the air. And worse, they triggered some sort of change as the jackals that had been silently observing them began to snarl and bare their fangs.

The clear hostility sent heat rushing along the monk’s spine and quickened his pulse. Tightness gripped his chest beneath the cord of fangs and teeth strung around his neck. It was the sensation of danger—born from the primal instinct of being hunted by a predator that would tear the meat from his bones and leave not a scrap behind.

He breathed deep as he remembered his training. If he didn’t master his fear and quell it, he’d make a mistake that could cost him his life. He attempted to clamp down on his instincts when the source of the howls came into view.

“By the old gods and the new…” one of the men on guard said, fear quivering in his voice. It was an… appropriate response, all things considered.

The howls were birthed from a pair of jackals unlike the others. They were far larger than they had any right to be, maybe twice or three times the size of their brethren. Their dusk-colored fur seemed wrapped around pure muscle as they came to a stop at the head of the pack.

“Dwarf…” the ranger mumbled as she pulled out a strange arrow from the small and narrow quiver hanging on her hip, rather than the larger one on her back. The wood of the shaft was thicker than the ones on the back and the head was a light-greenish crystal chiseled into an aerodynamic form.

The dwarven spellcaster’s eyes briefly fell onto her choice of ammunition and he made a light sound. “Thin, pin, and pray it is.”

““RRRRROOOOOOOOWWWWW!!””

The jackals threw themselves towards the caravan upon the dual howls from the leaders of the pack.

The spellcaster rubbed his hands as embers crackled from between them.

The ranger nocked the arrow and took aim with the string taut.

The monk stilled his fears and brandished his quarterstaff.

The onslaught began.