The noon sun burned brightly as its sweltering heat radiated down towards the dry terrain. The wind whipped up small swirls of sand and then cast it outwards, spilling over the broken, scorched dirt. I could feel the camel shift its wait from foot to foot as it ascended the small hill, and I took a quick, much needed drink out of my water skin. Everything was so dry. And hot. Really hot. I would not be surprised if I dried up from sweating excessively and losing all of my water. How long have we been in this unforgiving land? How long has it been since I last saw home. I turned around to look at Wang Peng. His camel looked just as tired as himself. He saw me and made a face. I laughed. Wang Peng fell forward and pretended to faint on top of his camel. How could he still be so silly and casual when we were in the midst of the most dangerous part of the Silk Road? It was common knowledge that bandits were eager to pillage caravans that were tired from countless days of desert travel.
All humor ceased as we reached the bottom of the small hill we had been riding over. I stopped the camel. Wang Peng stopped. Some children poked their heads out from the tarp over the carts. The whole caravan stopped and looked. On my right, in the middle of the sand, lied a half-buried dismembered skeleton of a donkey. Vertebra lied sprawled out next to broken hooves. Scattered around its sandy, dirt base were rotting pieces of wood covered in flies.
This land was cruel. Clearly, this was not the only failed caravan trip. Probably bandits. They didn't stand a chance. The bandits had stolen everything but the remains of a broken cart. This desert was harsh. Cruel. Dry. Hot. I wanted to be out of the desert already! I was sure we all felt this way. Everyone looked to the caravan leader. He met my eyes, looked forward, and dug his heels into his camel. We were off again.