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through the clouds, but none struck the ground. No sheets of fire raced through the grass toward the homestead.
    The storm blew past.
    Breaking through the clouds, the sun sucked the moisture out of the air. The dogs wandered from puddle to puddle, noses in the dirt, licking up bits of pooled water. As the last few drops slid between cracks in the ground and disappeared from sight, the dirt paled as if it had never even rained.
    Sarel tore her gaze away from the storm clouds. Her grip loosened and she smoothed the damp fur at Nandi’s neck. It was always the same once a storm passed. Fear drained from her blood, leaving prickling relief. Relief—but regret, too. Regret that the clouds were gone, that they hadn’t let loose their full weight of water.
    Sarel peered over her shoulder at her garden. A small smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.
    It had rained, and maybe it would even be enough.

19
Musa
    Musa stumbled and fell. He rolled onto his back, arms falling limp at his sides.
    Even with his eyes closed, the sun burned into him, round black spheres boring into the backs of his eyelids. His skin was caked with filth, and the sores at his wrists and ankles had begun to fester, shooting burning pain up his arms and legs.
    The air was dead.
    The wind filled his mouth with ashes.
    Up. He had to get up now, or he never would. Musa rolled over. He scrabbled to his hands and knees and pushed himself upright.
    He was close. He could feel it.
    Spots floated across his vision and Musa lifted a hand to shade his eyes. He looked west. The earth was a brown blur straight to the horizon. It was mad, searching for water in the driest corner of the desert. But then, who would bother to look for him there?
    Maybe the Tandie would just let him be.

20
Sarel
    Sarel squatted by the edge of the grotto pool, arms wrapped around her shins and her chin perched on her knees. She traced the chalky water lines that started at the tips of her toes and circled downward like rings marking a tree’s years.
    She dipped a finger into the pool. It touched bottom before the water reached her wrist.
    Sarel lurched to her feet, crossing to the pump handle. Even though she had already tried a dozen times, she yanked the ribbed steel down and back up again, grunting with the effort. Down and up, down and up, like a needle stitching without thread.
    The well was dry.
    They had been so careful. For years, so careful with every single drop. But none of that mattered. It was all gone.
    Sarel scooped a palmful of water into her mouth and rolled it around inside her cheeks and under her tongue before letting it slide slowly down her throat. She filled one bucket half full and walked up the curving stairs. Each slow footfall scraped against the stone steps as she made her way aboveground.
    She crossed the yard, not looking at the slab of cement where her home had been, or at her parents’ bare graves, not looking to where cucumber shoots, thin as blades of grass, peeked out of the garden soil.
    What did that matter if they had to leave this place? Beside the path, a beetle burrowed into the ground, its hind legs skittering against the hard earth.
    Sarel emptied her bucket into the trough. The dogs came running at the sound of the water splashing against the tin walls. She waded between their sinuous bodies, tails thwacking her shins and calves as she passed.
    Collapsing onto her woven grass bed, Sarel blinked back the stinging in her eyes and counted the water skins hanging from the ceiling like slumbering bats. There were two that needed stitching and sealing before they could hold water. In the morning, she would fill the rest. That might last the pack a few days.
    They had to go. But the thought of leaving this place made the air burn in her lungs, as if she were still drinking down smoke with every breath.
    Her mother had taught her to read the landscape, to look for hollows and shadows that might hide the next day’s meal. Sarel had