Silvery white gravel rolled into the cracked crevices of the ground, the ant-like grains covering the earthworm-like fissures under the urging of the wind. Jeremiah stood up and issued directions to shift the course to the team behind him. Without hesitation, after a brief rest, the group of Exiles continued to move forward.
Jeremiah put his scarf back on, which shielded his cracked lips from the knife-like wind, as if the thirty seconds spent replenishing moisture never existed. His parched throat continued its powerless protest, and Jeremiah's thoughts began to drift, rising and falling amidst the scattered sound of footsteps.
