Desert demise

Looking out over the dunes, the winds flush the air full of sand throwing it in all directions. The the lines that define the separation between air and desert are shifting and blurring. The sand storms of ‘the Zeh’ have swallowed their share of adventurers. Today one more enters the ranks of the lost.

Stumbling over the crest of a dune, Andol’s faded outline appears staggering in the shifting foot holds of the sand. With his loose brown robes and leather garb blowing in the wind, Andol looks like a dried up plant husk blowing across the desert. Leaning into the churning winds as they buffet him from side to side, Andol walks down the face of the dune with slow and scattered steps. At the base of the dune he stops and falls to his knees.

Peering through squinting eyes in all directions Andol thinks, “No…sun…”. The sand storm is obscuring his one and only guide to freedom. Now spiritually lost as well, absolute panic and fear sink into the deepest parts of his gut. Forcing out the dry, wispy words, “I’ve lost. I can’t save myself.” Andol folds his cloak tightly across his face, crosses his arms around his body and then collapses face down into the sand.