As the beast came, it was accompanied by a sighing that, at first, Emuel took to be the wind, but as the creature loomed over him and its hot breath blasted into his face, he realised that the noise was coming from deep within its throat. The creature swayed in time with its song. It was then that Emuel realised what it was doing; it was repeating the song that had not long since come from his own lips. The music was growing in strength and Emuel felt strangely invigorated by it. His body no longer burned with the dry heat of the desert, his breath no longer scalded his lungs.

The creature looked into Emuel’s eyes as the song came to an end. It unfurled its wings and, as its shadow fell over him, Emuel thought that this really was the end. But instead of being devoured, he was gently plucked from the ground and laid across the creature’s back.

The creature began to sing again as it carried him across the sand, introducing its own variations on Emuel’s theme — singing melodies that the eunuch had never heard before, that had the suggestion of something other, something alien; something vast.

The creature’s back rolled beneath him and Emuel was reminded of the swaying of the deck of the Llothriall. He wondered where his friends were now and whether the Final Faith had finally caught up with them. He hoped not; he would rather they were dead than in the clutches of Makennon or Querilous Fitch.

With the moon and stars gently rocking above him, Emuel found himself being lulled into sleep, and he went with it, grateful for its sanctuary.

He awoke what seemed like only moments later, rolling over and landing heavily on the ground, his right hand sinking into something cold and wet. He looked up to see the creature sitting back on its hind legs, looking down at him almost expectantly, and then he looked round to where he had been brought.