Chapter 83
We walked for days on end.
Dust clung to our boots like bad decisions, gritty and stubborn, refusing to be shaken off no matter how hard we stomped. The air shimmered with heat, warping the horizon into a liquid mirage, and the sun baked everything it touched with equal cruelty. The road stretched ahead in one long, mocking line, and not one of us had the heart to curse it out loud anymore.
Vorrak, who usually couldn't shut up even when his skull depended on it, had gone suspiciously quiet. Sim said it was dehydration. I said it was his ego, sulking because nobody wanted to try eating moss like he'd suggested the day before.
"You'll all regret this," Vorrak had muttered then. "Moss has nutritional value. The dwarves lived off this stuff during the Siege of the Twin Flames."
"And what happened to the dwarves?" Finn had asked dryly.
"They were gloriously constipated until the very end," Vorrak muttered.
