Sand as far as you can see. Sand stretched out far and wide from one end of the horizon to the other, sweeping across the land in little waves, the hills that the small motor vehicle crests and descends, its motor sputtering and spitting gouts of foul-smelling black smoke, the mechanic operating it uttering oaths that are lost in the machine’s grumble while you cling for your life to the thin metal girder that underpins the whole rickety craft and pray to whatever god’s left that the whole thing stays together. Sand is the fact. Kind of like time, and you’re just the little insect skittering across its surface till your luck runs out.

Sorry, crossing the sea tends to make me introspective. You didn’t sign up for that. You just want a descriptor, right? Well, I’m your man, a good one too, not like some of those hacks you might get around the White Rocks. I’ve described the experiences of hundreds crossing and crisscrossing back and forth across the sand. They’ve commended me as best they can, being in the usual state, as you know.

The trouble with descriptors of course–the bad ones, that is, is that they know just exactly how helpless you and your people are, and they’re in a ripe position to take advantage of that. I’ve heard of dirty descriptors who take payment up-front and then leave their clients at the closest available sandport–or worse, tell them that they’re walking toward a house when they’re really walking right off the edge of a pier. Nasty vermin, descriptors can be.

Not me, though. I am to serve my clients with all the quality and respect that they, as a member of the long-forgotten race deserve. Did you know about that? Some like you don’t. Never heard of the event way back that made everyone shift themselves.

You want me to describe it? I’ll take that as a yes. First, what I do is help you notice things. Now, if you just sit there, and turn your face up. Yeah, just a little way, don’t overdo it. Yes. You felt the heat, right? The heat. You have my word of honor we’re outside right now. You heard that snapping and growling? That’s the motor.

Anyway, the heat is what did it. The heat and the light. Something about it just snapped something inside us, and there we went. Your people shut their eyes and took care of the light. Mine, we did something else, maybe more stupid, but effective. Built glasses. The world had a lot of them once, but not strong enough for the light this close. Some people farther back in my family tree put lenses together more and more till they got something that we could use. A handy device, but the downside is that we can’t take them off. Ever. One slip, and our eyes are seared deeper than you would believe. Maybe you’re luckier just not having eyes.

It is what it is, I guess. People get used to it. They get on living, even with the giant ball of fire right there, taking up most of the sky. You know, I heard a story the other day about something they had way back, before the event. It was like sand, they said, but the things it was made of were much smaller. You’ve had fine sand, right? Of course you have. You’re alive. Imagine fine sand, the stuff that flows from the rocks in a really nice, low valley somewhere. The kind that doesn’t cut your throat when you swallow it. Then make each of those particles and make them way, way smaller, so you feel them all as one whole together, sliding along and around on the inside of your mouth. And then imagine it’s cold. No, not cold, it’s too much. Imagine it’s lukewarm. Not hot or scalding, but lukewarm.

They had stuff like that way back when, or so this other person was telling me. Stuff that would just flow around in your mouth forever, till you swallowed it, and it went down smooth and easy, actually taking the itch out of your throat instead of making it worse. And more than that, he said, when you had enough in your stomach, then your head didn’t throb the way mine always does, and yours probably does too. That was too much for me. I think this guy was telling stories, but it’s still amazing to think about. Where would you dream up something like that?

There are some rocks coming up on the horizon. Hey, mechanic, we gonna stop up here?

We’re stopping up here. Maybe they’ll have some fine sand. I tell you, descripting is thirsty work, but it’s about all I have the skills for. Ah, here we go. Now hold tight and say your prayers if you have anyone to pray to.

Huh. That went smoother than expected. OK, we’re out now. I imagine you can smell that burned out coppery odor. Means we just barely made it on the last of the fumes.  It’s a pretty bare rock too. One hut out there in the distance the mechanic is going over for some fumes. I asked him to find fine sand.

Why don’t we just sit here, and I’ll appreciate the view for you. I already gave the sand spiel. The sun’s up there, the fireball of doom. That guy I was telling you about earlier, he said that when the sun came this close, it killed all the gods that were duking it out over the world. I guess if they couldn’t stop this, it’s good riddance to them.