Within only a few minutes, the first signs of life from the storm began to emerge. A deep, monotonous hum sounded in the distance, and Welsh couldn''t help but notice the random pangs of pain that stung his eyes from the dirt displaced by the storm.


    Lonnek, who was clearly slightly panicked, walked off to the side of the group. Welsh couldn''t help but consider the fact that Lonnek was likely the least threatened by the storm. His shapeshifting body was impervious to nearly all forms of destruction.


    Additionally, Welsh couldn''t help but think of Soralees creeping in the back of the pack. There was no doubt that Soralees was secretly hoping to lose a slave or two to the storm. He would have no qualms lagging behind to consume the remains of lightning-baked humans.


    In the few minutes of calm he had, a few questions swirled in his head. It was no coincidence that Lyssindra had been seen slithering around the camp. It was no coincidence that this tree—the deadrot with the purple sap—had been specifically chosen for harvest.


    Momentarily, the storm would begin, and, as was the case with every crossing of the Ruined Fields, Welsh wondered if he would survive to see the other side.


    A few steps in the Ruined Fields could make all the difference. In one moment, the distant rumbling of the storm seemed as though it was an afterthought, and in the next, it would be among you. Loose, blackened earth found its way off the ground and swirled into the sky, and, within a heartbeat, the storm had found them.


    Welsh lifted his arm, placing his forearm in front of his face in an attempt to shield himself from the dirt and rocks displaced by the storm. With each step, its intensity grew stronger and stronger. Welsh was strong and was able to stay upright relatively easily, but he knew the slaves who lagged behind would undoubtedly struggle, given their smaller stature and the fact that they were carrying large sections of deadrot tree.


    He turned and looked at the line of slaves who followed. They had started their trek spread out, but the storm had only served to separate them even more. Behind him, Welsh could make out the first couple of slaves stumbling, staggering, and squinting in the wind.


    A loud crack of thunder boomed from overhead, and Lonnek made an audible squeal in the background. A section of blackened earth erupted from the ground, expelling itself in every direction as a bolt of lightning found its way to the back of the line.


    Screams from those in the back echoed across the plains, refusing to be drowned out by the thunder and wind.


    "We may have just lost a few," Welsh thought. He knew the screams would not be from those who were hit, but only those close enough to react. A direct hit from the storms would result in instantaneous death. Although he couldn''t see it, he could imagine the charred remains of slaves lying motionless in the dirt next to a swaying deadrot log.


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    It wasn''t long before the winds brought with them the smell of burning human flesh.


    He did pity them, but, more selfishly, he was concerned with those remaining and their ability to deliver the deadrot safely across the Fields. He didn''t need them all; he only needed one to satisfy the Overseer.


    The Fields had few landmarks to rely on in the way of navigation, but there was one in particular Welsh continued to search for—the body of the fallen Rotundran who still lay somewhere in the Fields. The way back wasn''t much of a concern—he knew where to go—but it would be a relief to see something he knew was so close to home.


    As the march continued, a few deep red bolts of lightning rained down on the scorched earth, but, luckily, each bolt struck far enough away to avoid injury and death. He knew that, at any point, the next bolt could be the one that ended his life, but the crossing was necessary for honor, pride, and duty.


    A brief lull in the action gave Welsh a chance to let his mind wander. He thought about life after this mission. Perhaps he was long overdue for a break. It had been some time since he had left Camp Keldarn, but a mission of such importance and risk was sure to bring with it some well-deserved time off.


    Perhaps he would travel to Rotundran. The Capital wasn''t short on entertainment, but it definitely had its drawbacks. It was where the most high-profile criminals were tried and put to death. Humans, Lessers, and even some "treasonous" Rotundran members were raised high into the sky and baked next to the shields.


    They called it the Piston, and Welsh wasn''t particularly fond of the screams coating the air of the Capital.


    Another option could be the fighting pits of Camp ______. Welsh was well known at the pits due to his own rise through the ranks, and, even though the air smelled of blood, it was a place he regularly felt welcome.


    Unfortunately, none of this would matter if he was on the receiving end of the ferocity of the storm.


    He had now reached a point where every step felt consequential. At any point now, the body of the fallen Rotundran should come into view, and Welsh could feel confident knowing they were relatively close.


    The storm began to pick up again. He walked a few more steps, stopped, and peered into the distance.


    Nothing.


    Where was it? It had to be close. It wasn''t always easy to determine how far they had traveled across the Fields, but he was typically pretty good at determining distance.


    And yet the body was nowhere to be seen.


    The line halted behind him. Lack of a body had now caused him to question his lead. Had he been leading them in circles? Their anxiety filled the air behind him, and he made the decision to carry on. It wasn''t the time to question himself.


    It had to be close.


    He now began scanning the horizon in different directions. Had he wandered too far to the east or west? Still, nothing could be found.


    His confusion began to boil over into frustration. Where was that damned body?


    As his mind swirled, a strong gust of wind lifted a swath of dirt, casting it across the party like shrapnel. Welsh winced but was immediately distracted by something the wind had brought with it—a black piece of textured cloth which had caught itself across the tip of his claw.


    He stopped in his tracks and lifted the cloth.


    In an instant, he became aware of the situation. It''s not that he hadn''t found the body because he had gone the wrong direction—he hadn''t found it because it wasn''t there.


    "Welsh!" a panicked Lonnek screamed at the top of his breath above the wind.


    Welsh turned to see Lonnek gazing forward with horror stained deep within his eyes—his hands grasping each side of his gut.


    "The Korvis are here!" Welsh thought to himself.