soon. We need to find more water for tomorrow," said Cheyne.
"And a place to rest," said Claria. "We cannot let the face of the sun find us in the desert."
"It should be over those rocks there, the best I remember," obliged Og.
"The best you remember…" Cheyne broke his stride for a moment, letting the little man catch up. Cheyne scanned the horizon. There were no rocks in sight. "Og, do you know where it is or not?"
"Of course I do. Keep walking. It's getting hot."
Cheyne was about to protest when Claria waved her hand excitedly and pointed to their left. "Look! I see the rocks. Come on." Sure enough, a low outcropping of sandstone glinted brightly in the first rays of the morning sun.
Finding new energy, they ran toward the bluff, leaving Og shambling behind, his feet ragged and bleeding from the long walk, the new boots, and a severe lack of raqa, he was sure.
The oasis had been recently used. Or abused, Cheyne thought. While there was plenty of fresh water, the previous travelers had left bits and pieces of their refuse scattered over the green carpet of cress at the edge of the spring, and the remains of a campfire scarred the center of the little clearing in the heart of a grove of date palms.
Claria gently placed her bundle in the mouth of a small shallow cave near the spring, took off her boots, tied up her long skirt, then walked into the cool clear water. She sank into the delicious spring, soft water-grass under her tired, sore feet, her skin drinking in the moisture, relieving the chaff and dryness of the desert air. Cheyne already had one boot off when Og finally managed to join them.
"Not yet. You wait while I go. One of us should stand watch," Og said, heading for the pool, where Claria had found a place deep enough to cover her shoulders. She lay back, her long curls fanning out