Gabriel had taken a rifle, knife and the pack with a mocking smile, though whether it was mocking himself or the Workers it was hard to tell. When he hefted the knife it was at least somewhat reminiscent of his sword; he slung the rifle over his back and strapped the knife's sheath to his arm.

He couldn't deny he was eager to get out of that blasted cave, so he strode forward, cheerful and jaunty and with an air that said he would have been humming with sheer pleasure except he just wasn't. (Not a note.)

Then they reached the surface proper and he stopped short, the sight of it like a punch to the gut. Now he knew why that phrase said what it did. The land before them was--there was no other word for it--raped. Sure, there were parts of Espas which were kind of hot and deserty and scrubby, but the sort of desert it had been had life in it. This was just ... rock and dust. And glass, of all things. It was wrong and it left chills all down his spine--a sensation he never wanted to feel again, thanks very much.

"This isn't what it's supposed to look like." The words came out before he could stop them.