The lone man stands on the highest crest of the tall sand dune, surveying the vast desert in front of him, watching carefully as dune upon dune is beaten and whipped into submission by the high sun and scorching wind. Nothing but sand as far as they eye can see and beyond stretches out before him like an eternal sea of fire. Behind him lay the canyon-lands, an endless maze of sun-scorched and wind-withered passageways of grey, and brown, twisted rock. Winding and turning archways with enough paths to drive any man to madness amongst the treacherous cliffs, unless you know the way.
Wind howls across the expanse of dunes. A large dust storm can be seen on the far western horizon of the endless desert. The man uses his free hand to pull his cloak tighter around him and pulls up his mask-like veil across the bridge of his nose. From head to toe he is colored in brown to tannish, sand colored clothing, with a long, hooded robe as well. His mask reveals only his sharp, tireless eyes; eyes that miss nothing. Perched on his other fore-arm is his only companion, a small falcon with equally sharp eyes, also colored to blend in with the sand, as is every creature bred for the open desert.
“Tell me Guinn, what do you see?” The man speaks softly. The falcon looks up at him with the only gaze she can give, intense and fiercely intelligent. She opens her beak and chirps softly. The man’s eyes lift back to the open desert. Three days and still they have not come for him. It is only a matter of time, he knows. He turns and begins his slithering descent from the dune. The canyons have enough dangers to keep him busy in the meantime. He crests another dune, and works his way down its opposite face. He pauses for a moment, waiting, listening.