Ximen trotted over crinkly undergrowth. The dehydrated plants snapped and crackled at every pawstep, but he cared more about speed than stealth. After all, the tepid morning weather wouldn’t last much more than a few hours.

Like everyone in Tanglewoods these drought days, thirst drove Ximen to seek water in the most unlikely of places. That’s why he’d woken up before dawn to follow a dried up creek to its source. The terrain implied his quest was doomed to fail, that the source of the freshwater came from runoff from an elevated plane, but he would try, anyway.

If he was wrong, he could hunt on the way back. Ideally, he’d fill up his waterskins and hunt a critter or two, then return back home before the full heat of noon bore down upon the swamp.

Sourly, he double-checked his person. The knives strapped to him hadn’t budged; good, because he was now thirty minutes at a reasonable trot from the border. Merlin hadn’t been so far from safety when she’d been attacked, and her attacker had less reason to attack her than Ximen, now that he considered the matter. Perhaps an eye for an eye really does make the whole world blind… but what else do you do with the degenerates?

He sighed. Stopping by the creek, he crinkled his nose at the trickle of water. Barely enough to be called a moving stream; not drinkable, he reasoned. Still, maybe there was a source further uphill…?