Two to Leave

I had not entered the parched lands entirely unprepared. I had an excellent pair of boots—good boots are underrated everywhere—and I was almost glad the ferryman would not accept them in exchange for passage. I had the Apiarist's Gun, made to fit my hand. And as for nourishment, that took care of itself, even here.

The Warriors, The Mothers, The Drowned

Ana thought the land of the dead would be empty, but it is full to bursting. With gods’ turquoise bones, with small grimacing golems fashioned from maize and bone-thin fellow travelers wandering across the desert on their hands and knees, with temples so black and shimmering that she can’t quite make herself look at them.

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Two to Leave

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The Drought Guard had sent twelve-and-twelve of their own after me, which might have held numerological significance if I still cared about such things.
From the Archives:
Crossroads and Gateways
“You would ask me a question, little god?”