Slowing down, Allura was less interested in the refreshment water might provide than what danger might lurk there. Her eyes scanned for bandits or demons, whatever foulness had drawn blood earlier. Not letting her weariness show, she strode onward. There was only one small shack, dilapidated and run down. All color had been bleached from the wooden boards by the sun.
Pointing at the entrance to the shack near the oasis, the wooden porch was stained red with blood. Long since dried in the desert heat, but a sure sign that this was the lair of whatever stalked this desert. A pitiful wooden door secured the entrance, and once the crusader reached it, she tested it with a nudge from her shield.