The cart swayed from side to side, while the horse's hooves sank into the sand. The caravan stretched like a long snake across the desert. Although in the distance, on the right hand of the riders, green tree crowns were visible, the people's path lay further through the desert.

Iriel kept bumping his side and back against the walls of the cart. His ear twitched, catching the creaking of wheels and wood. Mixed with these sounds was the growling of his hungry stomach and the clanking of the shackles on his hands and feet. He groaned softly when the cart wobbled again and suddenly tilted, falling to the side from a sharp jolt. Iriel squeals and falls out onto the hot sand. The elf quickly and cautiously looks around and immediately dodges the horse's hooves, jumping back.

A real slaughter appeared before his eyes. Black coyotes circled around the wagons, attacking people and horses, their red eyes glowing with hunger. Somehow, Iriel even understood them, because he himself was damn hungry. The former duke fell to the sand and crawled back, hiding under the wagon, watching with fear and apprehension as the attack was repelled. His eyes close tiredly, when he opens them he hears silence and a red sunset. He realized that he lost consciousness for some time.

Iriel's hands hurt from the shackles, but he overcomes the pain and crawls out from under the cart, but then falls down with a dull thud and sees in front of him... Someone's legs? Iriel mentally prayed to Saint Veritia that it was not a guard and looked up at the man standing in front of him.