The last camel has just dropped its broad feet deep into the burning grains and crept past the only landmark in miles and miles of desert: a boulder the height of one camel and the width of several more. It is still hot. The sun has been a ball of burning glare all morning, and now, being mid-day, the heated light glints off of the otherwise expressionless sand. Even the camels begin to tire, their tall backs looking less like mountains than like small humps fuzzed all over with dried brown grass. As the drivers grow hungry and spread peanut butter thickly on pieces of dried and crumbling bread, the camels relax their placid forms, becoming one with the yellowed expanse.
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