MADELINE'S POV
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Waking up every day to train means loosing track of time. It feels like weeks when it hasn't been, and I can't fathom why he's pushing me to my limits, but as he has me running yet another lap around the roof, I can feel my lungs screaming for a break. I think I've run ten laps, if not more-- I lost count at seven, and my throat is so dry that it would perfectly fit into the desert and not be questioned about it's form.
It feels like it's about to turn into sand any second if I continue to run.
"Why are you slowing down?" Atlas yells from across the roof, and my eyes flit towards where he's standing in the shade. I want to yell back that he isn't running in the heat of the sun, but my mouth is too dry, and wetting it with my own saliva even seems to fail. My withering
