They quickened their pace.
The snowstorm passed. And when they could see clearly again, they saw Golden Eagle perching
on an unbowed saxaul tree. Half-whistling, he threw them some wild onions. And they rested.
Hardships did not fade along with the snowstorm. At night it was still freezing; but in
daytime, the weather sweated in unbearable heat. Each gust of wind was a heat wave, evaporating
every drop of moisture in them, chapping and bleeding their lips. The great eye in the sky was
ever watchful, cunningly plotting the murder of the duo.
Still they walked on, with Golden Eagle as their guide. Golden Eagle would throw them wild
onions now and again, and would bore holes in the saxaul tree’s bark to release a gush of water
flowing out for them.
They were kept alive.
They had been on feet for what seemed like some thousand days. They had passed through the
greener lands refreshed, and headed further south once more. Where their destiny lay.
“The maze is out there.” Astari pointed at the distance, “The Singing Sand Dunes.” Wanderer
wanted to ask what that was, but a shiver made the question slide back down his throat.
Golden Eagle’s high-pitched voice called at them, they were obviously idling for too long.
“Time to get going.” Wanderer forced out the words, but he could force away his nervousness
no more.
Wanderer and Astari had been here for more than a month, but they always felt like it was
longer. Food and water were next to extinct, even wild onions and saxaul trees were rare. Only
Golden Eagle seemed to be unaffected.
They began to see not only those huge rocks were the maze, The Singing Sand Dunes was
already a maze in itself. They began to see why no one came out again, those who succeeded
to make their way into the actual maze were natural survivors already. For there were nothing.
Nothing but the stinking yellowish brown everywhere—ahead, behind, left and right.
The nothing was everything.
They had long lost any sense of direction. And they would have collapsed but for Golden
Eagle’s time-and-again nudges and warning whistles. Their heads swam all day. Once Astari
swore she saw Father and Mother running to her with open arms once more, but when she dashed
forward expecting a bruising but warm embrace, all she touched was the burning wind and sand
fading away.
“Can you see that?” Wanderer patted urgently on Astari’s back, “Is that the maze?”
She tried to refocus her bleary eyes, “It seems so…Oh yes! It looked exactly like what our tales
tell. Wolf’s jaw.”
“And what’s that…light green glow? It’s almost like a mirage of oasis…”
“They say that’s the treasure, that’s what they are behind.”
They rushed the remaining miles like they were racing with Golden Eagle. As they neared, the
rough rocks stood ever more enormous and ominous above them, while the glow brightened.
“So…That’s it.” Somehow, when they finally reached the maze through so many toils, they
wished they had never set off.
It was no hyperbole that it was called wolf’s jaw. It was actually more similar to a henge, but
of more obscure structure, and looked even more magnificent. If not intimidating. The sun still
pierced spicily outside, but when they staggered on, shadow and murk engulfed them.
Golden Eagle’s sharp eyes saw more clearly in the sky, and he led them on. They left the
