Visions of hell had to come from this place. That impression was the first Aron got of the spot where they emerged. The heat of the air singed their skin and hair; burned their lungs with every breath. Now he needed his blanket to provide a bit of shielding from the fiery blaze of a half-dozen suns scattered across the yellow sky. Clay reeled at his side, gasping, already soaked with sweat.
Aron untangled the blanket and spread it over their heads, letting the folds fall down around them like a gossamer tent. They could see through it enough to walk, while the fabric provided a tenuous, essential filter against the heat and brilliance.
::They did not lie, did they? This really is hell, whatever it may be called.:: Clay shuffled at Aron’s side, gazing around in shock.
::Aye. I believe st
