. . . DAYS WOULD PASS BEFORE THE INEVITABLE OCCURRED. Altra's stay is spent in relative silence; at first, other members of the expedition are curious of the newcomer. Some of them are wary, but more or less eager to ask questions—where he was from, how long he would be staying, and the like. Whether dissuaded by Altra's general apprehension towards adults, or pulled away by their duties, most eventually left him alone.
Nata had wanted to at least provide Altra some company. Every so often, he and Alma would snatch snacks from the supply team's food stall, since it seemed their new friend was too hesitant to grab them himself. But often times, Nata found himself pulled away from the person he was curious about, either by survey meetings, or helping around the camp.
The weather was dull and hazy for the three days that passed. Life in the Eastlands seemed relatively uneventful, until all too suddenly, the sandstorms rolled in, and lightning and thunder and chaos all but followed. The once drab, earthy browns and beiges were replaced by a dark blue sky so pitch that it made the plains seem like nighttime in broad daylight. In the base camp, people were scrambling to cover up fragile items and supplies that had been exposed to the surprise inclemency.
Under Avis Unit's tent, Nata stood close to Alma and Gemma, squinting past the buffeting winds that threatened to blind him with sand. "I hope the village is okay . . ." He winced to his companions.
"I don't understand. After sealing away Zoh Shia, the Dragontorch should have returned to normal," Alma would murmur softly. "It seems much too early for the Sandtide to arrive . . ."
Little did they know, things were only going to get worse.
@splicedskies // time for story beat two electric boogaloo
