By the time Ora found more prickly pears, she was armed with a sick in the shape of a fork and a slightly powdery stone that reliably cast sparks from her fetters. Her dress had almost retreated up to her knees, more scraps were wrapped around her aching hands and up her right forearm.

Stone knapping, Ora had discovered, was difficult and occasionally painful. But it was worth it to be able to eat without barbed spines lodged in her fingers. She worried that someone would see the smoke from her little fire, but if she was starving she wouldn’t be able to run anyway.

Even without the fetters, Ora would not have travelled very fast. She had no experience trying to navigate much of anything. All she knew was that the sun rose in the east and set in the west, and that she was headed generally south.

There was a checklist of landmarks that Ora was on the lookout for, as she travelled generally south. She was fairly sure she’d passed through the valley with cliffs that looked like snakes. And she was reasonably sure she’d gone left around a hill that looked a bit like a goat’s head. She had certainly followed a dry riverbed, that was where she’d found the flint.

Right now, three days into the wastes, she was on the lookout for the ruins of a watchtower. What exactly the ruins were supposed to look like were unclear, but Ora was fairly sure it wouldn’t matter. The wastes were empty enough that any ruins would probably do.

Her leather-soled, canvas shoes were holding up surprisingly well, despite filling with any immediately after Ora emptied them. Her ankles had stopped bleeding since she packed her fetters with her scraps of her dress. Her arms were bright red from the sun.

As Ora stood on the top of a hill, shading her eyes with one hand and chewing on a warm prickly pear, she thought she might have spotted the ruin she was looking for. It was further right than she had expected, but still generally south.

Ora’s only point of reference for a watchtower were the spindly, wooden towers that had stood around Outer Light. She didn’t think one of those would last very long as a ruin. So the image in her mind had simply been a spindly tower made from stone or metal.

As she got closer to what was certainly the ruin of something, she wasn’t surprised that it didn’t match her expectations. Ora suspected it had once been three buildings, two rectangular buildings made largely of concrete, and a round building whose remains were still taller than the other two, which must have been the tower.

Something was moving around in one of the smaller, concrete buildings, Ora was quite sure of it. Shadows flitted around on the sand. Maybe it was just some loose wire or cloth, shifting in the breeze. Perhaps it was an animals, looking for something to eat.

Ora tried to hope that it wasn’t people. She knew that the wastes were full of slavers who would take her back to the Lord’s House. But surely there were other people out here, too? If this grand city of Haven was real, there must be more than just slavers in the wastes.

Holding her wooden fork ahead of her like it would protect her from wild animals, Ora peaked around the edge of the mostly collapsed little building. What she noticed first was that the remains of the roof seemed to have been propped up by a small forest of spindly logs.

What she noticed second were two people, sorting through what looked like saddlebags. There was no evidence of horses or camels. Ora concluded immediately that the saddlebags didn’t belong to these two people. She decided very swiftly that it wasn’t her business.

Importantly, Ora saw no evidence of chains, fetters, or any sun iconography on these two people. As much as she was worried, it was possible that these two would know where Haven was.

‘Hello?’ Ora said, in the quietest voice she could muster.

Both people whipped around, knives in hands. They looked like young men, maybe only a couple of years older than Ora, with dark, sunburned skin. Their clothes were pale and loose and patched and stained, they both looked very much agitated.

‘Fuck off, this is ours,’ one of them said, jabbing his knife in Ora’s general direction.

‘Yeah, fuck off,’ said the other. ‘This whole place is ours.’

Both of them looked down at Ora’s uncovered ankles, and waved their knives threateningly.

‘You can’t have it,’ said the first.

‘Piss off,’ said the second.

‘No, I…’ Ora tried to say.

One of them stepped closer, jabbing vaguely with the knife. ‘We said fuck off, alright.’

The other picked up a chunk of concrete from the ground and hefted it. ‘Fuck off or we’ll kill you.’

Ora just stared at the two of them for a moment, until the one with the concrete started to wind his arm back. She ducked back around the corner with ample time to avoid the slow-moving chunk, and stumbled her way away from the ruins.

She managed to calm down enough to not trip over her fetters, and to try to head directly south. Ora had some capacity to read the time from shadows, since it had been the only way to tell time back in Outer Light, so she was pretty confident of her heading from the long shadow of the ruined tower.

Of course Ora felt dejected, disappointed, anxious. She couldn’t believe that had gone so badly. She couldn’t think of any reason those two men would have been so hostile to her.

She glanced down at her ankles, bare almost to the knees. She must have embarrassed herself, must have come across too improperly. But she couldn’t fix it now, and she had needed the bandages.

Ora walked past sunset, looking for a likely place to stop, trying to keep to her heading. Trying not to worry about those two men telling someone that she’d passed by.

What was supposed to be next? Was it the woodland or a big rock pointing northwest? Ora was so rattled that she couldn’t remember for sure. She hoped it was the woodland, her skin was starting to blister in the sun.

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The big rock that pointed northwest looked exactly how Ora had imagined it. A lump of sandy stone with a protrusion almost like a beak that did seem to be pointing northwest, based on the shadow cast by the morning sun.

Which meant that next was the woodland. Ora carefully lined herself up to continue in the exact opposite direction of the stone beak, and kept on walking. She was hungry again, thirsty again. But she would be fine. She could make it.

Ora was out in the open, no sign of a woodland, no sign of the beaked rock. No sign of much of anything. When she was sure she heard shouting from behind her. Her heart jumped, maybe those two men had seen the error of their ways. But that didn’t seem very likely, did it?

Trying not to slow or lose her bearings, Ora looked back over her shoulder. Four people, one dog, one camel. She couldn’t make out any details through the heat haze and the distance, but her heart sank right back down.

She couldn’t run in the fetters, of course, but she gave it her best go regardless. She had seen the slave catchers who brought escapees back to Outer Light only a couple of times, but they always came in small groups with a dog or two and a camel or two.

The fetters dug into Ora’s ankles. She ignored it. The sand piled into her shoes. She ignored it. Her breath came ragged and her heart thundered in her ears. She could still hear the shouting.

She couldn’t hide out here, in the open. She couldn’t get away. She ignored it.

Ora nearly tripped over the top of rise and stumbled her way down the shifting sand. On the horizon were trees, she was sure. If she could make it to the woods, she might have a chance of losing them.

Ora didn’t look back. They were still shouting. She ignored it.

The sand seemed to pile up on her feet. Her legs shook. Her hands throbbed. She couldn’t get enough air. Her vision swam. She tried to ignore it. The woods were getting close, were getting bigger.

If she could just make it, she was sure she would be fine.

Over the beating her heart, Ora heard the scrabbling of claws in the sand. The panting and growling of the dog. It was gaining on her. She didn’t look back. The trees were getting closer.

Ora couldn’t help but scream when the dog jumped on her back, knocking her into the sand. It barked and growled, deafening in her ears. She tried to move. She felt teeth around her neck.

The trees felt so close.

‘Oh, who’s a good boy?’ a man laughed, somewhere behind her.

‘Boring,’ another man sighed. ‘Lord’s House, for sure.’

‘No fun, no fun,’ a third man agreed.

‘You can always buy fun,’ a fourth man pointed out.

‘The House does pay good,’ the second man signed.

‘Probably from that mine, too,’ the fourth man said.

‘Who’s a good boy?’ the first man laughed again.

Feet appeared in Ora’s periphery, solid boots, pale grey kaftan.

The dog whined.

‘Yes, it’s you,’ the first man exclaimed. ‘You’re a good boy.’

The man crouched, leaning all the way down to look at Ora. ‘And she’s young, too,’ he said, smiling. ‘Some pious fuck’s eighth wife or some shit, probably.’

‘They don’t even pay extra for wives,’ the third man groused. ‘Stingy bastards, if you ask me. I’d pay good money for even just one wife.’

The man who was looking at Ora grinned. ‘Better to be a tenth wife or whatever than die in the wastes, I reckon?’

Ora tried to spit on him. It didn’t work.

He laughed. ‘Better for us at the very least.’ He stood up.

‘Alright, put her on Lumpy and we’ll head back,’ the fourth man said.

The camel groaned, or maybe mooed, at the sound of what was presumably its name. The dog got off Ora’s back, but before she could try to move, someone’s arms wrapped around her waist.

Before she could be lifted off the ground and only Lumpy, someone swore.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ the fourth man said. ‘Is that…’

‘It’s only one guy,’ the first man said, from right above Ora. ‘Boy, keep an eye on her.’

The dog returned.

Ora heard weapons being drawn.

‘You better fuck off, she’s ours,’ the fourth man shouted. Much quieter, he said: ‘you two, front.’

Two pairs of legs passed Ora’s view.

Carefully, slowly, Ora craned her head, chin digging into the sand, to look in the direction the two men were walking. It was hard to get a good look with the soft sand and the dog on her back. But she could see a fifth person. She could see the legs and drawn sword of a fifth person, coming toward them.

Two of the slave catcher were approaching this fifth man, the other two staying a little further back.

‘No need to die over some girl,’ the fourth man shouted. ‘I’m sure you’ll find one of your own if you keep looking.’

‘No need to die over some girl,’ the fifth man called back, his voice was gentler than the others. ‘You’ll find another one, I’m sure.’

‘She’s ours,’ the fourth man shouted. ‘You know the Lord’s House pays well.’

‘Back off and we won’t have to kill you,’ the first man said, raising his sword.

‘You will fight me for this girl, then?’ the fifth man asked, close enough that he didn’t shout.

‘We will kill you for this girl,’ the third man said, also raising his sword.

‘So be it.’

The fifth man was quick. The first collapsed to the ground, gurgling, both hands on his neck. The third stepped closer and there was a clash of metal on metal. He collapsed onto his front, blood leaking into the sand.

The dog started barking. Its claws dug into Ora’s back as it charged the fifth man. It was low enough to the ground that Ora saw the sword stab down through its back. It whimpered and collapsed.

Ora pushed herself up, sliding away from the two remaining slavers. She got a better look at this man who may have been saving her, or may have just been trying to get the payout for himself. He was tall, wearing pale, ragged clothes under rawhide under metal plates. He wore a mask in the shape of a bird’s face.

‘Fine, you can have her,’ the fourth man whined, voice gone high pitched and the sword shook in his hands.

‘This is a fight to the death, I’m afraid,’ the bird-faced man said, quietly, calmly. ‘You would kill me to keep her.’

‘Well then I surrender,’ the fourth man said, and dropped his sword on the ground, holding his hands above his head. ‘I won’t kill you to keep her.’

The bird-faced mask turned on the second man, still holding his sword in front of him. ‘Do you both surrender?’

The second man tossed the sword into the sand and put his hands up.

‘Well you’d best get going then,’ said the bird-faced man.

Both slavers turned on their heels and ran, grabbing Lumpy’s harness as they passed, scrambling and stumbling in the sand as they made a break for it. Ora watched them go, avoiding looking at the bird-faced man for as long as she could.

‘You’re alive at least,’ the gentle-voiced man said, crouching in front of Ora. ‘And you’ve been eating cactus, I see. Take this, drink slowly.’

Something solid was pressed into Ora’s aching hands. She finally looked. A metal bottle, wrapped in leather. The cap was already open. The bird-faced man was wandering over to the first man, still gurgling and grasping at his throat.

Ora sipped the flask, it was water. She drank a couple of mouthfuls and started coughing. The bird-faced man stabbed the first man in the chest.

‘That’s why I said to drink slowly.’