Herald kept his eyes on Fancy, waiting for the unfamiliar word to pull something from the blank space in his memory. Nothing came. "The shraap?" He repeated it slowly, watching her fingers tighten around the edge of her shawl. "What is that?"
Fancy glanced past him toward the ruined settlement before answering. "A problem you’ve lived with for quite a while now." When Herald continued staring at her, she exhaled through her nose and added, "I don’t know how much I should tell you."
"That tells me nothing." The ache in Herald’s throat roughened his voice. "Then tell me something."
Fancy loosened her grip on the cloth. "There’s someone who understands it better than I do. His name is Croaker. If anyone can tell you what happened, it’s him." Herald looked at her for a moment before asking, "So you’re asking me to follow someone I don’t remember to meet another person I don’t remember?"
"Yes." Something close to amusement touched Fancy’s mouth before disappearing. Herald gave her a flat look. "That’s not reassuring." Fancy’s answer came just as plainly. "No. It isn’t."
Herald tried to respond, but a cough folded him forward. He braced one hand against his knee while the other covered his mouth, every breath scraping through his chest. Fancy immediately reached into the pouch at her waist and unfolded a fresh green leaf. "Oh, sorry. My bad. I should’ve given you this earlier. Here, chew this and swallow it."
Herald straightened enough to inspect the leaf. "What is it?" Fancy kept it extended between them. "Something that will stop you from coughing blood if you keep talking." She hesitated for a beat. "Probably."
"Probably?" Herald looked from the leaf to her face, but another sting ran down his throat before he could argue further. He took it and bit down. The bitterness made his jaw tighten, then a cool sensation spread across his tongue and down his throat until the burning began to ease.
He swallowed again and touched the front of his neck. "That actually worked." Fancy started toward the edge of the settlement. "I wasn’t planning to poison you after spending a week looking for you."
Herald caught up with her. "A week? You were looking for me?" Fancy stepped around a fallen section of wall without slowing. "Everyone was. Patrols returning from the Wall were questioned. Travelers. Caravans. Anyone who might have seen you."
"Why?" Herald asked. Fancy’s fingers returned to the edge of her shawl, but she kept her eyes ahead. "Come. Croaker is waiting."
Herald stopped, and after several steps Fancy noticed the silence behind her. When she turned, he was looking across the shattered well, the black fungi crawling over broken houses, and the strange dark object half buried beside the sand. None of it gave him even the smallest piece of his missing life.
Fancy waited several paces away. She knew his name, knew he had disappeared, and knew something like this had happened before, yet every answer stopped before it became useful. Herald looked at the empty ruins once more, then back at her. "Fine." He caught up, and together they left the settlement behind.
Several minutes passed before he spoke again. "You still haven’t told me your name." Fancy slowed, her fingers curling once against her shawl before she looked back. "Fancy."
Herald repeated the name silently as they walked. He searched for a voice, a face, even the faintest sense that he had spoken it before, but nothing returned. Fancy glanced at him once, then faced the road again.
The farther they moved from the ruins, the less dead the land became. Dry grass pushed through broken stone, thorny shrubs appeared beside the path, and twisted trees rose where their roots had somehow found water beneath the earth. Herald stayed several steps behind Fancy, watching how easily she moved through terrain that meant nothing to him.
"How long was I gone?" he asked. Fancy kept her eyes ahead. "A week."
Herald’s pace slowed. "A week?" Dust shifted beneath Fancy’s sandals as she answered, "We searched everywhere."
This time he heard the exhaustion beneath her voice. Dust had worked itself deep into the hem of her shawl, and her shoulders sagged whenever the road stretched flat ahead. Herald watched her for another few steps. "You thought I was dead."
Fancy walked on before answering. Wind moved through the dry grass with a low hiss. "I thought I’d lost you again."
Herald’s foot caught against the edge of a stone. He recovered and closed the distance between them. "What does that mean?" Fancy kept walking. "I heard you."
"Then answer me. Fancy." Herald stayed beside her until her jaw tightened. "Not here."
He looked around at the empty desert. "Where exactly would be better?" Fancy stopped and faced him. "Somewhere I don’t have to explain your entire life while you’re barely able to remember your own name."
Herald had another question ready, but it stayed behind his teeth. Fancy’s fingers had clenched around the shawl again, bunching the fabric beneath them. He stepped aside, and when she resumed walking, he followed without pressing her.
The dunes gradually gave way to a weathered stone road cracked by years of heat. Smoke drifted above the horizon, while a shepherd guided thin goats across rocky ground and two children struggled toward a public well with clay pots almost too large for them.
Nearby, a woman poured the last of her water into a shallow bowl for a stray dog before carrying the empty vessel away. Herald watched her go. "Do people always live like this?" Fancy followed his gaze. "Like what?"
"Like the desert is trying to kill them." Fancy stepped over a broken section of road. "It isn’t trying. The desert doesn’t care enough to try."
Herald looked across the dry ground and tried to decide whether that was comforting or worse. Fancy had already turned her attention back to the road.
They passed shrines half buried beneath the sand, their stone faces worn smooth by wind. Fresh flowers still rested before some, while others held only a few grains of rice pressed into cracks between the stones.
Herald slowed beside one. "People still leave offerings here?" Fancy stopped a few steps ahead. "Of course." Herald studied the weathered idol before asking, "Even when half the shrine is buried?" Fancy answered, "The god doesn’t stop being a god because the roof is gone."
"And if the god isn’t listening?" Herald asked. Fancy looked toward the offerings instead of him. "Then praying can still mean something to the person doing it."
Herald remained beside the shrine for another moment, unsure whether she had answered him or avoided the question in another way. By the time he looked up, Fancy had already started walking again.
The air changed before the landscape did. Wet earth reached him through the desert dust, followed by the sharper scent of herbs and the faint sound of running water.
He followed Fancy around the next bend and stopped. Palm trees surrounded a modest clearing where narrow channels carried clear water through rows of medicinal plants, and a small hut stood at the center beneath hanging herbs and creeping vines.
Herald stared at the water. "This doesn’t belong here." Fancy finally smiled. "It belongs to Croaker."
"How?" Herald asked as she stepped onto the small wooden bridge. "He would tell you determination," Fancy said, glancing back at him.
"And you?" Herald followed. "I’d tell you he stole water from somewhere and refuses to admit it." A laugh almost escaped him before he swallowed it.
The hut door opened with a low creak, replacing the desert heat with cool, damp air. Narrow channels continued through grooves in the floor, while herbs hung from the beams and clay jars, roots, scrolls, and strange minerals crowded the shelves.
Several shallow glass containers lined one wall. Herald leaned toward the nearest and found leeches moving through the water, each glowing faintly green. "Don’t touch those," Fancy warned from behind him, and Herald looked over his shoulder. "I wasn’t going to."
"You were thinking about it." Fancy’s certainty made him turn. "Did I do this before too? Touch strange things?" She paused before answering, "Sometimes," and Herald let his hand fall away from the glass.
A rustle came from the far side of the hut. A small figure sat in a wooden chair with a scroll across his lap, so quiet among the shelves that Herald barely noticed him until the old man looked up. The scroll slipped from his hands and struck the floor.
"My boy!" Croaker hurried across the room on short, uneven steps and grabbed Herald by both shoulders. "Turn around," he said, already trying to look behind Herald’s head. Herald leaned away from his hands. "What?" Croaker gave his shoulder a light push. "Turn." Herald frowned. "Why?" Croaker pushed again. "Because I asked."
Herald twisted enough to look toward Fancy, who had already stepped aside. "You brought me here." Fancy watched Croaker continue the inspection. "I did." Herald gave her a pointed look. "Help me." Fancy folded her arms. "No."
Herald muttered under his breath but finally turned. Croaker checked the back of his head, ran his fingers along his neck, then inspected both arms before asking, "Any pain?" Herald answered, "My throat," while Croaker continued working.
"Besides that?" Croaker asked. Herald watched him move to his other arm. "My head. And confusion, if that counts." Croaker paused, then gave a short nod. "Yes. I suppose that one’s obvious."
When Croaker stepped back, Herald studied him properly. The hidden oasis, medicinal plants, glowing leeches, and the certainty with which Fancy had brought him here left little room for doubt. "You’re Croaker." The old man answered, "I am," while keeping his attention on Herald.
Herald held his gaze. "You know me." Croaker’s hands stopped near Herald’s arm, and the brisk rhythm of his examination vanished, leaving only water murmuring beneath the floor and the thick smell of herbs in the cool room.
Croaker looked up at him and held his gaze for a moment before answering, "For longer than you remember."