Prince Caeladan reached for his water flask to quench his parched throat. The army had marched into an ancient riverbed which looked like it hadn’t seen rain in centuries. The dust in the air stirred up by the march of his troops was choking. A meandering line of miserable scrub grew in the lowest part of the valley, giving away some trickle of moisture that still drained from the distant eastern mountains out to the sea in the north.
