“Darkness began to fall about him, sorrowful and pressing, nearly claustrophobic, the sun finally cresting the edge of the mountains leagues away to the west and casting the world in dark shadow. Cold and shaking violently, still shaken by his brush with death and his mouth tasting of bile and his stomach growling, he felt foolish, resigning himself to his sixth night alone out here. What had saved him would conspire to kill him now, for the nights in this region were as brutally cold as the days were hot. The month of Senia was still technically winter, and this wet chill in his bones would easily kill him if he did not dry. And still, there was the knowledge that his situation was only slightly less dire now. He had found water, yes, but he had not had food in five days, and he was still barely alive. He shivered and forced himself to stand and quickly built a fire in a pit in the sand from old, dried wood discarded by the stream at higher flows, drawing two dark crystals from his bag and striking them against each other until shoots of sparks flew and the stray embers caught the dry wood.”

-excerpt from “Vivous Moon” (Book 1 of the Red Tide series)