The Sunspire The sound of their tongues being bitten is all I hear.

There was a scent upon the wind that drew Sivugat out of hiding in his canyon; it was not the Saint's any longer, not since they had abandoned it, abandoned him. In the days to follow he had been the one to mind the caches; he had followed the worn trails they had left behind and pissed on all that remained of their mark, obliterating it, though he found no joy in the act. It was merely the call of nature - and the rotten food which moved hastily through his system.

He had lost a little weight during his solitary stay among the red rocks. The scent was like blood, and it was warm, but not exactly inviting, and somehow familiar. It could have been Nyra returning from their jaunt in to the vale for all Sivugat knew; likewise, food or someone lost, which Sivugat could take advantage of.

His hunger drove him away from the canyon and up, across a bald-faced hill that became a tinder-dry meadow lined with ancient trees. As the boy drew away from the path his steps sank in to mud and sopping leaf-litter, and he began to investigate the earth there, tasting it with a flick of his tongue.