Marvel in the multitudes of emeralds you find as you trundle your way through this sacred place. Carefully pick your way amongst the natives, and step between their stilled fingers. If you are quiet, you can hear the ancients breathe, and count the minutes between each slow heartbeat. As is the way of life, fire ravages through this space; wild, hungry, and free. Wait with bated breath for the healing rain and hope. In time, the children cautiously reach up to the sky from the ashes below, wearing tender, new skin. Where are we?

Guarding the desert with spiky grace, I stand in sunlit solitude. A resilient sentinel, I thrive where others wither, holding life within my thorny embrace.

Standing tall through wind and rain, a silent keeper of time's old chain. Unmoved by whispers of the past, a steadfast figure always steadfast.

I’m a pattern made of things that never truly touch. I guide travelers without moving and change only over ages. Seen at night, I form creatures and objects, though I’m nothing but perspective.

On vast sandy seas ye must roam, Where the sun be the king of the dome. No water in sight, Just heat and sunlight, A land where no ships find a home.