I know this. I've been here already. I know this taste – the taste of Damascus Rose obfuscating the truth in a dim haze. They may sweep the traces from my memory, but my body remembers. These cuts speak volumes, even though my mind remains silent.

They will be back. Oh, they will be back.

The desert dunes were like waves in a sluggish sea. While the caravan moved the land appeared motionless, but in camp the hills moved.

The faint glow escaped my fingers and began to spark brightly and spirit me away. Unlocking alien memories of spiralling towers, endless deserts, and impossible geometry.

I wish I could ask you how much you remember. I don't know if there will be anything left after I consume this drink.

There is no shame in using a parasol in the desert. As it happens, it's imperative to your survival!