''"One more death,"'' he thought. If he hadn't really had time to befriend Eurixus, his loss was no less upsetting. They all were. Definitely, Belenor had not expected so many difficulties, and this despite the fact that Melkiar had warned them many times about the danger of this expedition. Or rather, he had thought he was ready. After all, the daily trainings at the Academy was demanding and varied. But in the end, he understood that nothing could prepare the inhabitants of the comfortable Fyre for the living conditions of the desert west, and especially those of the terrible Desert of Fire. You had to live it to believe it.

''"Let's regroup!"'' yelled Melkiar over the din of the red-hot storm. Garius placed his large hands on the protected back of Belenor, who did the same with the soldier ahead of him. And while Melkiar and Varran pulled on the cable at the head of the procession, Garius and his comrades pushed with all their might. Finally, each soldier managed to plant his hardened amber sardine into the protective root. With his harness securely attached to the wooden anchor, Belenor put all his weight on his tether and let his limbs sway in the wind. After several hours of constant exertion, her muscles refused to relax, as if stuck in a state of permanent contracture. His ability to handle the Sap had failed, too. For if protective suits could absorb some of the thermal damage, magic remained homins' best ally when it came to protecting and repairing their bodies.

— Pa… Pardon Varran. » souffla Bélénor, encore sous le choc.