Under the setting sun of the desert, Aheia’s fear felt like hot kernels of sand and the caress of impending shadows. She recognized it in the way it gripped her neck and hurtled her heart into a rhythm that had her lightheaded, though the taste on her tongue was foreign. In days past, fear had churned Aheia’s stomach like the rotten meat she’d been forced to eat to survive. Before that it had lived in the stale waters of stagnant streams, and yet further back it had sounded like crunching leaves when there shouldn’t have been a soul for miles.
I really like the “fear as a metaphorical monster” parallel in the second paragraph, but it’s doing too much here. Making it a Swiss army knife to foreshadow, introduce the setting, and also give background on the protagonist’s journey feels like overkill.
