The eastern deserts opened before Viana's expedition like a vast, unforgiving canvas. The rolling, arid hills gave way to increasingly stark terrain: stretches of cracked, reddish earth, then shifting dunes of fine, pale sand that stretched to the horizon.
The air grew thinner, drier, carrying the scent of dust and distant, unseen decay. Hot during the day, chilling sharply after dusk, the desert tested their endurance.
Water was rationed with a meticulous hand, each sip a conscious act of survival. Navigation relied on ancient star charts and Reyes's precise readings.
Viana, though outwardly resolute, felt the strain. Her muscles ached, her skin chafed from the constant friction of the saddle, and her throat was perpetually dry.
