Dreams of Imahken

Ciun of the old world you will meet soon,

 A soft breath caught Ciun's sleeping ears.

She shot up from a deep slumber, face flushed and exposed. Her surging heartbeat overpowered the breathing as she instinctively covered her face and found her bearings. In a quick flip of her head, she shrouded her face in a curtain of her hair. It was then that she noticed Illus blindfolded and lying across the chamber- the source of the breathing. She caught her own breath, a trickle of embarrassment showing from whatever dream slowly faded from memory, then picked the mask up from where she had been laying. With a sigh, the fox mask clung to her face as if magnetized.

Apart from the soft breaths of the sleeping Illus and some crunching of her bed, the chamber was silent. A sense of tranquility slowly set in, idly watching Illus sleep. He seemed so uncomfortable on the granite floor, an old tapestry his only protection from the hard floor. A thought drifted through Ciun's head, a tender thought of gently lifting him into bed with her and cuddling him until he woke up. She happily entertained it, yearning to feel the same peaceful touch as the night prior, in his arms. But duty outweighed that feeling, and instead she took to the mountaintop.

It was welling up to be another scorching, dry day of summer. The river would most certainly be drying soon, and she already spied smoke to the distant south. Several small fires worth. A large party, likely.

The fox hummed the song of his procession while he paced next to the river which was dry as a light brook, very aware that Ciun listened in.

But Ciun's ears caught voices to the south and the north- more people. Speaking directly next to the barrier on both sides, amidst the same conversation.

Past the stone and down the slope there was no river, only shimmering air like heat rising from fire. Sator looked up and down the bank, clueless about where the river went or why the walls of roses were not present. He approached the shimmering air and reached his hand through.

Upon touching the shimmering air, a force pulled Sator through the space. He lost no balance, as if transported in his pose to the other side. He looked back through the shimmering air to Colonel Uthman, Captain Chitus's investigation team, and five mules packed full of gear. Colonel Uthman's mouth moved, but Sator heard nothing. He reached out once more and was immediately returned to the others. The Colonel was in the midst of saying something.

"-are the ruins, Sator? Do you know what this is?"

Sator scratched the back of his head. "I couldn't hear from the other side, but the river is supposed to be here." He pointed to the rippling space. "I think... maybe it pulls you to the other side of the ruins?"

Chitus scratched his sideburn. "When does it open, Sator? The other group is already on our heels! We need to find a way in quickly!"

"Captain," Sator shrugged, a little defensive, "I don't know the stipulations for when walls of magic disappear according to-to-to a-the water level or what-have-you! She said it opens when it dries and closes when it floods, and the river floods a hell of a lot faster than it dries."

Uthman put a hand out to silence Chitus. "Sator, what is the fastest entry point to the ruins? Our timing may be barred, but we can capitalize on positioning."

Sator pointed through the shimmer. "The north side is a lot flatter from what I remember.

"Then we will enter there and make haste when the walls come down."

Behind them was the group led by Anilee. "Led" would be a bit of a stretch. Anilee did nothing but complain about the scoundrels who answered her call to action. She camped with the more trustworthy crowd, though even they wanted little to do with her, and only put up with her because her suitor had the map. Infighting had been prevented, but several attempts to steal the map and take off on their own led to a small deserter party of thieves who they saw no trace of by the time the sinkholes appeared. New accusations of thievery and mutiny arose every morning. New issues plagued them to no end: supplies running short, men sick, injuries rampant.