[P] a winding weaving fate

[Jahin]

It's midday. There is a trepid breeze tugging at his flame-like hair but otherwise the vast expanse of the desert seems relatively calm, albeit warm. Too warm. Mirages dance on the horizon and heat waves shimmer like rainbows on the glittering sand. Despite the relative "normalcy" something makes Jahin feel deeply ill at ease. Nostrils flared, he searches for something that might justify the unnerving itch he feels on his spine. He sees nothing out of the ordinary. The breeze is stronger and more insistent than before and transforms into a stunning gust that nearly knocks him off his hooves. His years living in this endless abyss of sand and sun warns him not to ignore his gut feeling and so he continues cautiously but with a sense of desperate urgency. I need to find shelter.  He does not fancy being caught in a sandstorm. Jahin has seen entire dunes moved in one day. He has seen dunes rise where there was none before. He has seen all the cards of the desert at some point in his life and he is not a gambling man. Whether there may be such a storm brewing in this eery strangeness or not, he doesn't intend to stay and find out. His trot picks up into a mile eating lope. He has focused on personal training during the past weeks since returning to his people and he is suddenly immensely grateful that he didn't delay working on his physical fitness any longer. He is going to need all of his speed and stamina to outrun whatever may be pursuing him. The breeze is no longer a breeze, but wind. Savage and hungry, the invisible force ravages the land and the sand stings his eyes, his skin, and fills his lungs in the place of air. His hooves pound the earth but it is like running through honey--the sand slips and slides out from underneath him and he feels his energy reserves burning low. There is no shelter in sight. Only dust and sand rising from the earth; the desert has taken his sight. Only his internal compass guides him now. I have been gone too long, he thinks. The desert has outsmarted me. He stretches out, cloven hooves clawing, reaching, grasping--he is a red flame flickering in the vastness that is the Mors desert. Something black and boiling follows in his wake.  He doesn't see the little auburn unicorn until it is too late. He utters a half-cry of alarm and tries to stop but the sand carries him forth like a wave from the sea and he collides into her. He's not sure how but they both manage to stay on their hooves but there's no time for an apology. "We've got to go. Now."  Before he can take another step to flee the pursuing sandstorm, a creature rises from the depths (surely from hell) right before them and emits a terrible, keening screech that drowns out even the howling wind. Something in his stomach drops like a stone into water. He realizes he was wrong before; this is a card that the desert has never dealt him before--a sandwyrm.

@Thana