For travellers limited to two legs, Arak is an autumnal, swampy forest, framed in crooked trees that rest chin-level with giants. High above the trees towers a landscape rarely seen by outsiders: impossibly tall rock spires too steep to scale. The arakkoa gaze out from these treacherous perches, watching their land like incarnate gods . . . and paying homage to the blessed sun by burning the “low races” alive.