“Nearly there, by the Feyqueen’s grace.”
Anans’s voice is somewhat muffled beneath his sunveil, somewhat hoarse from the dust and sand that had dried out his throat. The elf, so jovial when you set out from Ambershade only a few days before, now looks weary as he sullenly tugs his turban down in an apparent rebuff of the sun. The two-day detour on account of the dust storm meant he was behind on his scheduled route and had to make up for lost time with daytime travel. More irksome still, with the harder pace, he had found it necessary to dip into his own stock to keep the caravan members hydrated. Any longer, and he would have had to use even more for the camels.
You cast your eyes in the direction of his gaze and can barely make out the hazy outline of a small village through the heat distortion. The Ridge of Heaven rises impossibly high ahead of you, its highest peaks lost to view. You hope it will give you some shade from the heat once you arrive in Vez, at its foot.
“Just a bit farther now!” Anans calls, and the other members of the caravan give a cheer and pick up their step.