“Where are the others?” I ask.

Asher startles beside me, but he hasn’t noticed what I have seen beyond the woman: the remnants of a small pack. Several huts are built along the rocks, sheltered in alcoves. They’re dilapidated now, caved in. Sand and dust have gathered at their frames. Only the woman’s home is anywhere near habitable, and even that is a stretch. The entire structure leans to the side, as though it may collapse any day.

“Gone. Left about a year ago, to head to Powder Town. Not sure if they made it or not. Hope so, though. They thought I was crazy wanting to go north and were tired of waiting for me to prove I wasn’t. Still, I don’t wish them any ill will.”

“You just said there was nothing around here,” Asher points out.

“There ain’t,” the woman says. “When I founded Harlie’s Hope, it was home to a thriving pack of ten, and we explored every which direction from this here center.” She stomps a foot on the parched ground. “Powder Town’s to the south, and according to the folks living there, there’s nowhere worth living beyond it. To the east, we found iron mines belonging to men I don’t trust. And desert to the north and west. Days of it. Farthest we ever got on horseback was four days. Then we had to turn back.”

My heart sinks. We won’t last four days on foot in barren desert. We’ll run out of water, supplies. And who knows how far the Verdant is, truly. The possibility that he was right about everything gnaws at me.

“We couldn’t risk exploring any farther,” the woman goes on, “not with binos showing nothing as far as we could see and our animals growing weak, so we came back, let the horses recover. We tried a few more times, with different headings. Still nothing. And now the horses are gone too, south to Powder Town with the others.”

“But you stayed,” I say.

“I think there’s green out there,” she says with a shrug, and her weapon lowers with the motion, no longer aimed at our heads but at the dirt that separates us. “This whole world can’t be rock. I don’t blame the others for giving up on me and the wind wagon, though. I crashed more often than I sailed, and even if I get it working someday, there’s no guarantee I won’t sail myself into an endless desert and starve. But I’ve dug my heels in so far on this one, I can’t quit. Once the rusted thing works, I’m not looking back.”

This is our ride, I realize, this crazy wind wagon I’m standing on. If we get it working, we can cross the desert. We can find the Verdant. I just need to convince this woman to take us.