[The bones jutting up from a landscape of sand are intimidating. Cain keeps his distance, at least until someone else proves that it's safe — naturally the natives of the caravan don't have an issue, since this is familiar territory to them. But Cain doesn't share the same sense of assurance or accomplishment upon reaching this landmark; he only feels impossibly small and inconsequential next to enormous evidence of dead, long-gone beasts. Even eerier is how the skulls point them forward on the path, like watchful guardians of a pilgrimage Cain never actually signed up to do.

They don't really have a choice, he soon finds. It's either go forward or sit down in the sand and wait it out. And he's definitely not going to do that.

Once he's past the shock of seeing all of the weird, colorful individuals that compose the group on their long pilgrimage, Cain gravitates toward those with their own mode of transportation. The sand skimmers catch his interest immediately; it might mean he doesn't have to walk the whole way, which is starting to get annoying with how sore his ribs are. So when they make the offer of one of their boards, red sail already full with a steady breeze, he thinks he's making the best choice.

Until he realizes there's someone else coming with him. Cain hesitates, one foot on the board, glancing back.]

You're not gonna freak out, are you? 'Cause I don't wanna crash this thing if you start grabbing me. Just let me drive.