Rocks jutted this way and that, and made the carts violently fling their cargo about. In their wake, dirty air sailed up and lingered oppressively. The sun through crimson fabric made the world seem even fierier. She put a filthy hand up to her forehead, and wiped away the sweat that beaded like a crown on her forehead. No one would come. It was too hot for flesh; even flesh that was all too inviting. It would be like paying to be engulfed by flames. The world was burning, and she, its queen, was waiting at the gates of hell.