The glaring sun beat harshly down upon the weary traveler. Sand stretched farther than even his eyes could see. Wynde had trod through this desert for days without finding anything worth noticing. "One more day", he spoke aloud, "One more day and then... And then... If I do not find what I seek... I'll turn back again." It was somewhat comforting to hear something besides the dry winds flying across the burning sand, even if it was his own voice.

Wynde thought his footsteps could now be heard for miles. Always even, they were, except for every so often when he stumbled in exhaustion from the heat and toil.
A solid shape seemed to rise above the horizon. At least, it appeared solid. Wynde had heard of adventurers in the desert who, in madness, he had been told, had envisioned strange occurances. Standing in indecision, he finally decided that he would continue on towards the shape. If it truly did exist, then, at least, he would have shade.