Redsand Canyon under the water i'll be sharpening my knife

a call, and the warlord turns to glance back over her shoulder. a pale woman, made of ivory and with jewels for eyes, vivid against the paleness of her. the woman regards her a beat, noting the herbs she carries and recognizing them as familiar. the rain begins to pick up, the sting of it almost perceptible even beneath her thick mantle of fur. "follow me," she instructed, voice low as she motions toward an outcropping. 

the woman trudges through the river, water curling around her ankles as she makes for the curved rock, an evidently dry semi-circle of earth tucked close under the curve of the stone above. in the distance, the heavens rumble threateningly; this will not be some short-lived summer's shower.