You opened your eyes, expecting to see the white stalls of your bedchamber. Instead, you glimpsed an amber sun rising over the Ganyeve and heard the song of it's sands ringing in your ears. All at once, you were struck by other things. Your lips were dry, and your throat was parched. There was sand in your mouth, grains mottled to the sides of your face. You blinked furiously. You must still be dreaming. How else could you explain waking up in a desert, half slumped on a horse . . . ? A horse?