The hard pan plain stretched into the hazy horizon. Mud cracks proliferating its skin like the veins and arteries of a land who's heart stopped long ago. A distant mountain spine was almost convincing enough to make one believe there was an end to this flat expanse, but the wind whipped such foolishness out of me.  As if on cue more gust-borne grit abraded my eyes and mouth, open as I was reduced to panting like a dog. The waterskin at my hip was full but for only the grace of a dewy morning and a well placed moisture trap. I drank the water greedily, letting some spill from my lips and onto the equally parched ground. 

It was then that the ground sighed, its featureless lengths distending into rolling hills. What sprung forth would've made any pious man postulate before the gods would it not have drowned him. It was as if the sea itself had ousted its primordial rival and reclaimed its earthen right. And now that my cursed thirst had been slaked one hundred fold I was left musing  that I might drown in a desert.