EXT. CRATERED DUNES – LATER
A METEORITE lies half-buried in ash, black and pocked with one jagged opening.
Phira'ag's huge skull is in the hole, sniffing.
_
PHIRA'AG
(echoing) It's one of ours.
_
Thrukna dismounts, runs her hand along the space rock. Wary, reverent.
_
THRUKNA
Any survivors?
_
Phira'ag shifts, grunting as his sniffer wanders the cavity. He abruptly stills.
Inside the meteorite's hollow: a MOLDY DEMON CORPSE, curled in the back like an adult-sized fetus aborted too late. Its flesh is blotched with the same porous rot as the slime-mold growths.
Phira'ag's nostrils flare. His hackles rise.
He withdraws his head slowly; the movement alone answers her question.
_
PHIRA'AG
The casualty's scent… it's the same as one of those.
_
He points his snout toward the nearest CRIBRARIUM TREE.
Thrukna raises her wrist, revealing a SEMISPHERICAL ORB embedded in a bracer, a wearable crystal ball. She touches the glassy surface with her three middlemost fingers, murmuring under her breath.
The orb fills with DARK EFFLUVIUM, swirling with faint, sparkling motes.
No flashbacks. No answers. Just obscurity.
Phira'ag watches the crystal with suspicion.
_
PHIRA'AG (CONT'D)
Our comrade's death is clouded. Stay vigilant, Mistress.
_
Thrukna lowers her wrist, jaw tight. She remounts her wolfish steed.
CUT TO: