Damn this sand Re-learning to walk in Mars's gravity - less than half Earth's- had been enough of a challenge, but the Warlock thought she could never get used to the sand. Fine, light and abrasive, it jammed guns, fouled machinery, and got into the joints her armor. She shifted her body, sending a small cascade of the stuff off her shoulders. It drifted, too slowly, down to the pavilion below. Now retaken by the environment, the dunes that had flowed into the city brought corrosion and decay with them. After years of abandonment, all that remained of most of the city was its bones. Fortunate for her, concrete fared better than the glass and chrome of the taller buildings. Her vantage point was eroded, yet stable. Nonetheless, deep, almost orange sand collected along the curved edges of the roof. However, not everything the desert brought was entropic. A few gnarled, scrubby bushes grew where they could in the former population center. The distant whine of an engine broke her contemplation. She snapped to attention, searching for the source of the noise. The Titan, also alerted, had already hefted his massive rifle and was peering up into the grey sky. “There.” The Hunter pointed north, over the buildings to the surrounding badlands. A rust colored cloud was growing on the horizon. The Warlock readied her own rifle and looked down the scope. Cabal? Or had the Fallen finally decided to expand their raiding territory? It was impossible to tell. Billowing clouds of dust the color of dried blood obscured whatever, or whoever, was approaching. Damn this sand.