The next morning, the desert seemed to have emptied itself of all anger. Far from the outbursts of the night, far from the silent screams of the flayed sand, it stretched as far as the eye could see — peaceful, flat, almost benevolent. A golden, gentle light embraced every dune, caressing the sand crests like an ancient hand. There was no more wind. Only that warm, soft, almost unreal silence that sometimes floats after storms, when the whole world seems to hold its breath. The war of the previous day was now only a memory embedded in the grains, a shiver in the earth's memory.
And in the middle of that silent immensity, Lysara...
She was skipping.
Light.
Alive.
