He had come as far as his body would allow and the darkness that was closing in had little to do with the night. Emuel welcomed it, but until it claimed him there was time for one last song.

He took something of the song of the dunes, something of the song of the Stone Seers and something of the song at the heart of the Llothriall, and wove the cadences together. Though his throat was dry and his lungs ached, the quiet music that came from him made the coming end seem somewhat less terrible.

Emuel’s breath faltered and he struggled to draw the air he needed to finish the song; it came only in a whistling gasp. His heart slowed, each beat shaking his body, the silences between them becoming longer and longer.

In one of these silences he heard something moving across the sand towards him. He managed to raise himself on his elbows — though doing so caused him incredible pain — and what Emuel saw filled him with horror.

The thing that had hatched from the obsidian egg had found him.

It moved with its belly low to the ground, crawling on four stumpy legs that seemed unsure of themselves, as though they had only recently learned how to walk. Behind it, it dragged a barbed, whip-thin tail and the evening breeze rippled the paper-thin membranes of its wings. The creature’s hide was jet-black and reflected the moonlight in a golden sheen. It had grown since hatching: it stood almost three feet high at the shoulder, and was approximately the length of a grown man from its snout to the tip of its tail.

Emuel hoped he had outpaced the beast, but now it was clear that it had been following him all along. Sensing his weariness, it was moving in for an easy meal. The eunuch didn’t have the strength to defend himself, so he sent up a prayer for a quick death.