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 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 statues were praying – gazing into the dark domed ceiling.

Why did he have to go in there? You don't go into burning houses. He should have known better.