Landing back in the Dragons Throat, Ghost gingerly set herself on the ground and stood a moment, allowing Fantôme time to slide from her back and onto the sandy floor. She heaved and puffed, her injuries and her fatigue made carrying the heavy watch, that nestled under her wing, all that much harder. At least it was over. The battles were over. Or, it seemed that way. Ghost wasn’t one to presume an ending to chaos, but the Earth God had been quite decisive and the banshee was quite simply tired. It was the end because she hoped it was the end. Her body didn’t feel up to being battered anymore. Still, she wasn’t without trophy. Around her neck and tied to her stolen crescent moon necklace was a vial, stained with tar, of tiger God blood. A consolation prize for her efforts though it didn’t heal the wounds she had sustained or offer a reason for the madness. Was all that just to have more land? She shrugged and sighed, for now she didn’t care, gaining something was better than nothing and the red blood went quite well with the blue moons. The banshee wore it like a symbol of her duty to the land, a trinket for her dogged hard work and for any that may doubt that she was there.
 
For a moment everything was still, the breeze blew, the sun was edging its way back and day turned towards evening. The spy wondered what happened now, was there another storm brewing on the horizon that the Gods hadn’t told them about? It felt odd that there was no current crisis afoot (that she knew of) and her heart was suddenly yearning for more chaos again. Chaos without the disturbing diseases, those weren’t needed and it made Ghosts nose wrinkle again at the thought. She had been lucky this time.
 
"Go on ahead, I might be slow" she ushers her wolf with a nod of her head as she delicately began to move into her lame walk. It hurt, but it wasn’t that bad, the brute that currently ruled the Hidden Falls had dealt her much worse damage than this. So she shouldered the injury and began to make heavy work of walking through the demanding desert. At least it wasn’t the height of the day when the sun was the hottest. She raised her wings slightly to help with her balance and to block the last embers of the day as Fantôme disappeared off into the distance. She followed the images he sent that directed her towards the Oasis and the chance of water with shade.
 
As she travelled she lost herself in thought, wondering if the others had made it back from the Isles and if they too were injured. She had yet to see a Riftian venture into the desert either; though she had been in and out so often that it was quite possible she had missed them. Ghost hoped they would come, at least some of them, it was boring if she couldn’t prod and poke them with questions about the land they had just come from. The banshee was quite interested in this Rift and how on earth it came about. Were there more? Was it all the same Rift? These were the kinds of questions she pondered over as she walked closer and closer to the Oasis.