Tem’ondri lined the horizon as he walked onto the front porch, bringing distant thunder, a cloud of dust. Ula stumbled, baa’draskin boots scraping dry wood, a broomstick limp between his fingers. It would take the riders over twenty minutes to draw close enough to count. He checked the door was fully shut, leant the broomstick against a wall and sat on the bottom step, eyes narrowed against a fading red sun.

The rumble of their approach shook the ground. There were three, all of them riding mita dragons, which he recalled but hadn’t seen since he was a boy, their rippling scales shimmering green and scarlet. The dragons’ loping, sidewinding movement meant death for humans, who couldn’t ride, but the tem’ondri could. The gargantuan insects tore through the wasteland dirt and rocks as if they were nothing but air. Ula was glad they hadn’t crossed the cane fields or he might have lost many crops.

They stopped just beyond his perimeter fence, dragons rearing, exposing writhing legs, antennae waving against orange sky. He rose to greet them. The mi’owa was a half-registered weight on his ankle, giving him a slight limp.

‘Kulaz.’

‘Kulaz,’ said the largest, pulling reins. Her compound eyes were pink and glittered in dying light. The others remained silent.

‘You have travelled?’ Ula asked the large one.

‘Daar Orr,’ she said.

Ula’s eyebrows rose.

‘We apologise for our abruptness. I am Vrawn. These are my companions, Vrax and Goll.’

The remaining tem’ondri crossed spiny forearms over their chests. Ula did likewise, bowing towards them. The one called Vrax was blue-eyed and thin. Goll was beetle-round, and her eyes were red. The tem’ondri climbed from their dragons and tied the reins to his fence, where there were long troughs filled with dew. The mita drank noisily while their riders entered the perimeter.

‘We have herb,’ Vrawn said, raising a bag in her secondary left fist.

‘Then we will drink,’ Ula said without a smile. ‘Please, follow.’

He led them up the porch steps and into the farmhouse, which was open-roofed to allow the wasteland heat to escape. Birds fluttered as they entered, making his guests crane their heads and point towards the thatched roof. T’Shawn was preparing the evening meal with their son. They were both so busy seasoning baa’dra they didn’t notice anyone until Ula cleared his throat. T’Shawn faced him, smiling, but jumped when she saw the tem’ondri. Her lips fell into a straight line. She gathered herself, came into the living room, crossed her arms over her chest, bowing. Vrawn hummed, her mandibles clattering like hard nails drumming against a wooden table.

‘Kulaz maadram, good lady.’

‘Kulaz, madam.’

She bowed to Vrax and Goll. Vrawn turned to Ula.

‘A fine mate.’

‘She is,’ Ula said, clearing his throat.