"Further in. Town called Krader." He screws the cap back on, tucks it away. Mirror's still a helluva a walk, and he doesn't trust the birds any better than desert springs. "Name it a dream, 'cause you won't wanna remember."

There's life in the sand, for all that it crawls and spits and eats itself. Already, dust stirs for the march of tiny legs, drawn for moisture. Down its little dugout, an antlion steadies jaws. A lizard waits in turn. And on down the way, the wardens pile darkspawn in a great fetid heap.

One of the pale things twitches, skull dangling broken chunks. Doesn't seem to notice that it ought to be dead, as it thrusts out a scabby arm to pull itself free. A shout goes up. A warden descends with hammer, beating the creature over and over, until it falls back onto its kin.

Lazar doesn't blink.

"What's Piltover like?"