fear is the little death that brings total obliteration

Movement caught his eye, a lone scarab crested the ridge, the moon reflecting off the dark sheen of its carapace. The bug was larger than he'd expected, scuttling quietly as it moved to scale down the other side of the dune, going wherever scarabs went. His eyes then caught sight of the bird flying above, not a native to this area, or at least he assumed since he didn't think ravens were desert dwellers. He pressed on, noticing the bird was hanging back somewhat, perhaps scouting?

He inhaled deeply, catching nothing but the grainy edge of sand and...what he could only really describe as the passing of time. Not old and rotting, but ancient, almost. The night had been mostly still, the wind absent till a strong waft of it blew in his direction, making his eyes squint against it. That's when he caught the stranger's scent, that of a wolf, not a loner like himself but not so social that too many other scents clung to his form. He was on the move once more, intent on meeting the stranger in the middle.

Following the ridge of the dune, it wasn't quite a straight line, but twisting like silken fur. Shaped by the wind, like an artisan's work they were constantly fiddling with and adjusting, never able to get it just so.

It was there he spotted the stranger, the greeting offered to him not even that really. A probing question, Ronan didn't exactly feel compelled to answer.

"Could ask the same of you. Nothing out here but sand and ruins."