Stranger Lands - Sci-fi and Fantasy

Chapter 3 Kemu brings her to the hut where Dehla lays, sleeping now as the night waxes in its depth. Avira draws up a stool, simple wood burnished with a black dye and sealed against the elements. Dehla lies awkwardly on thick covers nestled in a round cot. Her upper torso is twisted so that she is on her back, and a thick wool blanket, woven in intricate pattern, covers her at an angle. The makeshift rag which Avira had tied around her hoof has been replaced with proper bandaging, red spots seeping through the white. Avira can see, across her arms, a thinly spread green paste that covers the scratches. Her head too is bandaged, the nubs of her horns poking out through the gauze. She is relieved to see her breath is easy, aided by the medicine. “Stay here a while,” Kemu says, bass voice quiet. “I must call council.” “What must I do?” Avira asks. “Watch,” Kemu commands. “Pray. Erikind is our small god of healing. You can make an offering come dawn if you have anything to offer, but pray...

Chapter 1 A wanderer stumbles, chastised under the blinding sun. Her limbs are heavy, full of sleep, her mind clouding as the simple release of dreams swim to her vision. Mirage-images flicker, all too promising. A crowd of people in the desert. The absurdity makes her laugh, like a harsh bark - a sound from deep inside that pulls her weary body and distressed mind into the waiting darkness of exhaustion. It is cold, down here. Away from sensation. Her dreams are not peaceful as they chase her back into the recesses of consciousness. All sharp angles and buzzing talk. Intelligent things. Above that, behind the gnawing metal prongs strangling her mind; something dark and twisting. There is pain, a familiar pain, the shock running through her. Around her, coalescing; a shifting vision - the salt desert under high sun and crumbling, vinestreaked ruins meshing inexorably until the strange dream-clarity takes over and she is plunged icily into the scene of flesh rending and reknitting, shak...