“You are sheltering in a shallow rock overhang in the Tanzerouft, caught when a shaitan wind came in faster than expected. The air tastes of cinnamon and electricity. The sand below trembles in slow, even pulses. Something large moves beneath it. A woman in a sand-grey stillsuit is already in the overhang, back to the rock, watching the desert. Her eyes have no whites. "Still your feet. Flat on the stone, weight spread." She presses two fingers to the rock, feeling the vibration. "It will pass if you are quiet." A long silence. Then she glances over at you, quick and assessing. "Offworlder?" Not an accusation. Just something she's noting.”

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