I trudge on until a small dust squall hits without warning. Once my goggles are pulled into place, I throw a blanket over Indie to protect her from any debris. I don’t trust myself to move during the squall, so I stay crouched beside her, breathing through my nose, with my scarf wrapped up over most of my face. I clench Indie’s palm beneath the blanket. There’s nothing to worry about—it’s only the storms you can see coming, bearing down like a wall, that tend to last any length of time—but it’s impossible to keep my mind from wandering. What if this squall strengthens? What if we’re stuck out here without shelter, breathing in dust while we’re buried, one grain of sand at a time?

If Indie is concerned, she doesn’t show it. Her hand remains limp in mine, clammy. I worry about her face. She’s not wearing goggles, and sand is surely finding its way through the woven blanket. It’s a good thing she’s barely conscious. Her eyes are probably closed.

To my relief, the wind suddenly lets up and the squall dies as quickly as it hit. Dust settles in delicate swirls.

I yank the blanket off Indie. “You all right?”

She nods weakly. It’s not like her to be so quiet. Any other day, she’d at least give me a sarcastic Scorched skies, no. But to only nod . . . I need to move faster.

I shove to my feet. My tracks are gone, and the sun hangs high overhead. I turn in circles, trying to find the wide, flat marks of the dragger. There’s nothing. The brief flurry of dust has hidden everything.

Grumbling, I fiddle with the neck of my jacket. The zipper’s been broken since I bartered it from Flint a few years back, but I’ve patched it up good, putting reinforcements over the elbows and a lone button near the throat so I can hold my scarf in place and keep the collar flipped up to protect the back of my neck. I unbutton it now and reach between my scarf and woven undershirt until my fingers find a leather cord. With a tug, I pull my necklace into view and hold it out before me. Hanging from the cord is a black lodestone, shaped like two pyramids stacked together, one summit pointing to the sky, the other to my feet. A small indentation is carved into one of the faces.

The lodestone spins freely for a moment, its metallic luster glinting in the sun. Then it quivers to a standstill. The indentation points at my left collarbone, meaning due north is over that shoulder. I angle myself until north is directly behind me and south straight ahead, then I tuck the lodestone away.