Perspiration collects beneath my hat, dripping from my scalp into my eyes, so I stop the mule in a strip of shade cast by a boulder. The child mumbles as I lift her down, her eyeballs swivelling back and forth beneath the lids, as if reading from some giant book. Her skin is hot and dry, her breathing shallow. With a sigh, I feel for my pouch of beads. Don’t want to waste one, but it might be enough to wake her, and I need answers.

The instant it shatters between her teeth, her eyes fly open.

They are bright hazel-brown, the whites bloodshot. For a second they roam the sky, contracting in pain at the brightness, before settling on me. Something like fear crosses her face, still a mess of dried blood, and she opens her mouth to cry out, but chokes.

I grab the flask of water from my belt and hold it to her lips. She swallows greedily, stale as it is, until I take it away.

She gasps for a few breaths. ‘LaSalle?’

‘The large man with the red hair? He is gone.’

‘Gone?’

‘Dead. He was badly injured in the crash. You remember the crash?’

The child winces, raising a hand to her head.

‘You were hurt,’ I tell her warily. ‘But I have stitched the wound. I believe you’ll live.’

The child blinks hard, her lips trembling – on the verge of tears. I sigh, relief surging through me. So she is just a girl, hurt and afraid, no matter what the tattoos imply. A military ward, perhaps?

‘There’s a cut on your head,’ I say, trying for simpler words. Alone for so long, I’ve forgotten how to speak to anyone, let alone a child. ‘And I think the crash may have bruised your brain. You will probably feel sick, for a while. Do you understand?’

She seems to see me for the first time, taking in my face, my clothes, the dirt mule behind us.

‘You won’t hurt me?’ Her voice is high and frightened. ‘Or sell me in a market?’

‘No.’ I sit back. ‘I’m just a medic.’

She sniffs and nods. ‘Help me stand up?’

‘Be careful.’ I lean down to take her arm. ‘If you do have a concussion—’

In a flash, my arm is twisted and I’m flung off balance, landing face down into the dirt. I roll onto my back, snatching out my knife by reflex, but a small fist knocks it from my grasp. I try to cry out when something slams down on my throat.

It’s the girl’s boot. She stares down at me, her lips curled into a snarl.

‘You won’t kill two of us, carrion.’

As blue and yellow stars start to fill my vision, the wind blows, brushing sand across my face and for a second, less than a second, I feel them.