The sunken sandstone gully offered a thin shield against the howling desert gale, but the air at the bottom of the trench smelled of drying blood, sour bile, and the acrid musk of drake venom.
Ye Chen dropped to one knee on the red gravel, his bare knuckles brushing aside the sharp stones as he leaned over the dying youth propped against the rock wall.
The young wanderer’s coat of faded hemp was torn to ribbons across his ribs, exposing three jagged claw gouges that wept thick, blackish fluid into the dust.
His skin had turned the dull color of lead, and when he opened his bloodshot eyes, his cloudy pupils drifted blindly across the red cliffs before finally focusing on the steady, bronze gaze looking down at him.
"Do not waste your breath trying to rise," Ye Chen said, his voice flat,
