The world is still dry and my path is forever burned.
There is no oasis in this place, only the dry burns of the waterless drink. Exhaustion is in my bones. No rest, no rivers to soak my body in. There is nothing to revitalize my weary bones.
Only dry sand and the blessed bugs in it bring benevolence to my stomach. My throat is searing and bare. My fingers are cracked.
All I can do is sit here until the flow of time brings me to a new land, but do I really have to wait for something else to move me?
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