The desert wind blew and bits of sand danced and ricochetted off of the hood that protected the traveler's eyes. The sand of the dunes curled between the dried toes as the cloaked figure stepped carefully and deliberately deeper and deeper into the desert in the dark. It was many days still before those sandaled feet, dry and cracked from the heat and sand and harsh sun would carry the figure across the heart of the land and begin the trek to the land on the far side of the fiery ocean of sand. It was a journey made many times, and the hardships were not unexpected, but they were hardships none the less.

What little light the traveler had was from the rising sun, within the hour it would be over the horizon. Soon it would be time to burrow into the sand and sleep till the following evening in the uncomfortable sweaty filthy heat beneath the sand. Sand is mystical in its nature to get everywhere, no matter how secure the location.