He shook himself a bit to adjust to the cold, wishing that he'd Conjured up something that he could have eaten hot, or cooked. Another breakfast of water and fruit did not sit well with him. He was a carnivore… but the problem was that there was nothing to hunt out in this rocky waste. He could Conjure animals himself, but he had to agree with Sarraya in that matter. It did seem a bit, cruel, to Conjure an animal to its death. Almost dishonorable to the animal. Druidic magic respected the balance of nature and of life, and it just felt like a violation to do such a thing. His belly and his Cat instincts disagreed, but he hadn't reached the point where he'd cross that line just yet. He could tolerate another day of fruit, berries, nuts, and water. After all, this place couldn't be a rocky table all the way to Arkis. It had to end somewhere, and he might get lucky.
It had been a strange night. He didn't remember falling asleep, but he did remember the fact that he wasn't startled awake by the nightmare. For the first time in many days, he'd slept through the night without Sarraya's help, slept without the dream or the face of the dead girl to haunt him. That face was back, just behind his eyes, taking up its place within him, but the two consecutive nights of peaceful sleep had done much to renew his strength. He felt ready to deal with its accusing, empty gaze today. He felt ready for just about anything. It was almost like the charge in the air was bleeding into him, energizing him in some strange way. He felt almost optomistic, and was in a better mood than he'd been in for months.
Sarraya flitted out of the shelter and gave him a calm look, but said nothing at first. She pulled up a gossamer little bit of cloth over her face, coughed, then snorted loudly. "Can't this place go one ride without choking me?"
She seemed to be back to normal. Maybe she'd blown off what had happened earlier. That, or she was acting normal for his benefit, since she could probably tell that his earlier weakness had embarassed him.
"It likes you," he said absently, looking up into the dust-hazed sky. He could barely make out the Skybands, but he saw enough to determine which direction was northwest. Visibility was poor, the dust acting like fog, but he could see about a half a longspan ahead. And on this flat, rocky table, that was far enough.
"The air feels weird," Sarraya complained. "Like static."
"I noticed," he replied. "I think it's the dust."
"I don't remember feeling this before."
"I guess not every storm has the same effect," he told her. "Want to ride or fly?"
"I'm cold, so I'll fly for now. The activity will warm me up."
"I know the feeling. Let's go," he agreed, then he started out at a ground-eating pace to the northwest.
"Hey! Wait for me!"
He ran out of the dusty pall around midmorning, and the sun's blistering heat found him without the dusty haze to deflect its might. The heat of the sun didn't really bother him much anymore, nor did the radiant heat of the rocks, or the air itself. He had become truly acclimated to the savage heat of the desert, his body's Were aspects adapting him to his new environment. He was much leaner now, lean and lithe and dangerous-looking, and his black for actually served to trap cooler air next to his skin, insulating his furred parts from the full fury of the sun and leaving him feeling much cooler than someone without fur.
He still saw nothing, nothing but empty flatness, but the appearance of more rock spires on the horizon bolstered him. He began to notice them at noontime, when they stopped to eat a Conjured meal of fruits and water. The Fingers of the Goddess, they were called, reaching up from the desert floor. There were a great many of them. The last time he moved through one of those forests of stone, he'd seen a great deal of desert wildlife. Maybe those rock spires harbored an evening meal. Tarrin squatted down over the little Faerie, giving her shade from the merciless sun as he ate a curiously cold peach.
Sarraya fanned herself with her wings, pulling on the neck of her gossamer gown repeatedly to circulate fresh air under her clothes. She had done well in the desert heat, never complaining about it, but today she seemed to be affected by it. "Is it just me, or is it really hot today?" she asked in a breathless voice.
"It feels pretty hot," Tarrin agreed. The midday sun was fully up, and that meant that it was blasting the rocky flat with its full fury. It was the hottest part of the day. "I've been wondering, how are you dealing with the heat?"
"Faeries aren't as fragile as we look, Tarrin," she said primly. "We're almost as rugged as you Were-kin."
"And how much do you cheat?"
Sarraya gave him a hot look. "I don't cheat!" she flared, then she gave him a sly grin. "Well, not much, anyway. About noon, I'm starting to shield myself from the heat with Druidic magic, but I can take it most of the rest of the day."
"It's strange, Sarraya, I'm totally used to it now. I don't even sweat anymore."
"You sweat, trust me," she said. "It just evaporates so fast that you don't notice. Anyway, you're a Were-cat. Were-cats have that damned regeneration. It adapts you to anything from this blasted wasteland to arctic tundra."
"I already figured that out," he grunted. "You want to ride for a while?"
"I think I'd better," she replied. "It's so hot, I'm even feeling it through my little magical shield. I don't want to give myself a heat stroke by flying."
"I wonder how far away those rock spires are. The sun bends things, makes the distance-"
Come to me.
Tarrin's ears picked up, and he stood up and turned towards wherever that came from, towards the northeast. He hadn't heard it with his ears, he'd sensed it some other way. Almost like a whispering. And the voice was unknown to him.
Come to me, it repeated, that same inaudible whisper, yet it was plain to him.
"Tarrin? What's wrong?" Sarraya asked.
"Someone's… calling me," he replied uncertainly. "Can't you hear it?"
"No, I don't hear anything but the wind," she replied.
I know you can hear me. It is time. Come.
There was a… rippling. He couldn't describe the sensation. Like ripples in the very air itself, shivering over him. They came from the northeast, the same as the voice. The sense of static in the air returned, more oppressive now, feeling like it was weighing down on him.
Something deep inside him reacted to that sensation. Before he realized what he was doing, he was walking towards the northeast, towards a cluster of rock spires that seemed to be separate from the others, sitting just before the horizon.
"Tarrin? Tarrin, what are you doing?" Sarraya called, flitting up from the desert floor and flying up to him. She landed on his shoulder, then switched shoulders so the sun was blocked by his head a little better. "What's going on?"
"I can hear it, Sarraya," he replied. "It's calling to me."
"It could be a trick," she warned. "I don't hear it."
"I don't really hear it either. At least not with my ears."
"It could be a trap, Tarrin."
"Then let's go spring it," he said calmly. He was wildly curious about this. It seemed to cause something within to respond to it, almost like an irresistable call, like the singing of a Siren. He could not deny the power of the summons.
"What did it say?"
"Only to come," he told her. "And it said that it's time."
"Time for what?"
"I guess we'll find out when we get there."
He picked up into a trot, then that ground-eating loping run that allowed him to run all day without rest, a pace that covered a great deal of ground. He ran in the direction that the calls had originated, his curiosity running wild. He had no idea what he'd find when he got wherever he was going, but the irrepressible need to go there and seek out this strange voice did not fade in the slightest. The thought of it absolutely consumed him all afternoon, even smothering over the eyeless face behind his eyes, dominating his thoughts. The cluster of rock spires grew closer and closer as the afternoon progressed, and he seemed to sense that that was the destination. That was from where the call had issued, that was where the answer to this mystery would be found. He didn't ponder much on the manner of the call, only its substance, only its effect. Sarraya rode along in relative silence, fretting and frowning just about the entire time, but she grew quiet when she realized that no amount of arguing, shouting, cajoling, wheedling, or even begging was going to turn him from his course. Tarrin was dead-set to his path, and she could not cause him to drift from it.