Knowledge is denied throughout the lands of sand he walks on, and even knowledge of denial is not granted. Still, he paces. Without rhythm or hesitation, with perseverant motion. He counts the steps he makes without remembering the numbers. Above the deceivingly glittering sand, a tunic of breezes twirls around his legs. Pillars of streaming air host countless grains of sand. Grains of sandstorms.
His eyelids squeeze and hide the most of his black eyes that beckon heat. He peers at the horizon through a thick web of lashes, making the Sun smear in the sky and the sky merge with the sand, stretching the horizon vertically.
A silky female voice fades in and wakes him from his sleep.
-"Have you dreamt ?"
-"I have. Of life."