Carn sat in his miniature caravan. The only word that he could use to describe it would be squished. The curved leather ceiling gave an impression of being in a dark cave. A pitiful little lamp hung on a rusted metal hook which sat on the wall opposite from the bed. His bed, if you could even call it that, sat on rails and was pushed to the very edge of the caravan. If you wanted to use the piece of wood that the Mantine called a desk which sat at the foot of the bed, then you would have to roll the bed underneath and pull the foldable chair out from the floor. However, Carn didn't mind, he was gathering information on the Mantine, and that was all he needed to focus on.
"They believe that the desert is alive, that each grain of sand is sacred. They worship it almost like a god. However, that's crazy." Carn mumbled to himself. "The triplets seem to be in sync and repeat what each other say."
"Are you done talking to yourself, Carn? Those creepy Rhot triplets have dinner ready, so hurry up." Yelled an annoyed Glade from outside of the caravan.
"Sorry, give me a few minutes, I really have to record these notes for the conservatory. You know, Glade, it would be a much easier task to do if you would actually help me."
"Whatever, just finish soon."
"I wish he would drop that sense of superiority," Carn mumbled to himself. "He's right though I should hurry up." He finished scratching the last few notes about the Mantine in his notebook and blew out of the candle inside of the lamp.
Carn pushed open the caravan flap and stepped into the arid desert, right into the center of a circle of caravans. It bothered him how every single one was the same. They all had the same curved leather look on the roof, the same wooden wheels, and the same stupid dromedaries that pulled the caravans into the endless sea of sand.
Carn walked to the center of the camp where all of the Mantine ate, except, no one was there. That's odd, normally everybody is eating here now, he thought. More for me I guess.
A distant scream followed by a broken string of words, stole Carns attention from the thought of food, "Shut ey…open ever." Oh no, that sounded like A'al.
Carn jogged over to another caravan hoping to find somebody, "Whats happening?" he asked a visibly frightened Mantine, who was running away from the direction he had come.
"M-mo-monster." Stuttered the Mantine, slowing to jog and pointing out into the desert.
Oh no, no, no, this can't be happening. Carn anxiously ran in the direction the Mantine had pointed, hoping that what he had said wasn't true. His feet hit the sand over and over, slowing down as his lungs tired. Then they stopped. His feet were stuck to sand, sand that was pure black, the color of death.  That's when he saw it.
The creature wrenched its way out of the ground, pulling one spindly ash gray foot from the Sands of Mant at a time. It was covered with scales, each serrated with onyx's the size of a fingernail and a single hooked claw at the base of its leg. Its body a ragged mess of ash gray flesh, with a vortex of teeth pointing directly downwards.
"Shut eyes, do not open ever," said A'al in an urgent tone.
"Shut eyes, do not open ever," said K'al in an urgent tone.
"Shut eyes, do not…" M'al started to mimic his brothers, but a loud thumping sound followed by a muffled scream of pain cut replaced the end of his sentence.
No, no, no, this can't be happening, Carn thought once again.
Sand dusted the air. The creature's legs speared into the ground as M'al took his last breath. The crack of splintering bones sounded in the air, followed by a short hiss, and then the smell of smoke.
"M'al," said K'al and A'al in unison. "M'al, M'al, you there?"
A thump.
A crack.
A hiss.
The smell of smoke.
Two more dead.
I have to do something, I have to help them. I have to open my eyes, so I can see what is happening, Carn thought in hysterics.
Then, the world exploded in a puff of smoke.
*
"Before we get too far into the story, let me pause and introduce myself. Greetings, I am one of the Time Chroniclers. That is not my true name, but I feel no need to tell that to you. I am among the last beings of a dying race that were meant to document the events of Cavalist from different points of view. Simply put, we inhabit lifeforms and live vicariously through them until either the life form dies, or we decide we have seen enough, and subsequently leave said lifeform's body. What you just read was from the point of view of a young man coming up on his 18th birthday. He had been traveling through the Sands of Mant to return to his homeland when he and his party were attacked by a desert spider. Needless to say, they did not survive, not all of them.
"Each Time Chronicler is tasked with recording a different aspect of Cavalist. In my case, I am tasked with recording the final moments of those that I live through. Morbid, I know. However, it is something that must be done.
"Now, we shall continue the story, but not from the eyes of the dead. Instead, we will continue the story through the eyes of the one closest to death."
*
Glade walked in a straight line away from the caravans. All he wanted was some peace and quiet. He was tired of listening to those stupid Mantine ramble on about how you should respect the desert. It wasn't a living creature so why should he respect it.
He lifted his left hand up to his mouth to stifle a yawn and sat down on a cool patch of sand which was slightly higher than others.
Glade looked up at the stars. If the Mantine wanted something to warship, why wouldn't they choose the stars. His people had taken refuge in the stars, knowing that they would always protect the citizens of Calent.
Glade yawned again, this time not bothering to cover his mouth. He shifted onto his side, closed his eyes and let darkness consume him.