Boran watched Boran's figure dissolve into the desert night and tilted his head, puzzled.
Concealment magic? That was a crude art, fit only for scouts. It hid a man's form but did little to mask his tracks or scent.
But his confusion curdled to shock, then fear. He took a step forward, reaching for the spot where Boran had stood. His hand met only empty air.
No footprints marred the sand. The wind carried no unfamiliar scent. His ears
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