The desert sands moaned a lonely soliloquy to the souls lost in the long, unearthly time they had existed. They remembered the ravages, the ravaged. They remembered the hideous shadows of death under the hot sun, and of fear in the hovering, cold night. The desert moon mourned them, mourned them all. But, above all this, it mourned the ravagers, whose folly made the dunes live, sands shift in blood and voice. From nothingness these four brought something. That something, now that it was dead, would long be missed.