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And
the
omnipresent
sand
patches
dragged
against
their
feet
.
Paul
stopped
abruptly
on
a
rock
shelf
,
steadied
his
mother
as
she
stumbled
into
him
.
He
was
pointing
left
and
she
looked
along
his
arm
to
see
that
they
stood
atop
a
cliff
with
the
desert
stretched
out
like
a
static
ocean
some
two
hundred
meters
below
.
It
lay
there
full
of
moon
-
silvered
waves
—
shadows
of
angles
that
lapsed
into
curves
and
,
in
the
distance
,
lifted
to
the
misted
gray
blur
of
another
escarpment
.
“
Open
desert
,
”
she
said
.
“
A
wide
place
to
cross
,
”
Paul
said
,
and
his
voice
was
muffled
by
the
filter
trap
across
his
face
.
Jessica
glanced
left
and
right
—
nothing
but
sand
below
.
Paul
stared
straight
ahead
across
the
open
dunes
,
watching
the
movement
of
shadows
in
the
moon
’
s
passage
.
“
About
three
or
four
kilometers
across
,
”
he
said
.
“
Worms
,
”
she
said
.
“
Sure
to
be
.
”
She
focused
on
her
weariness
,
the
muscle
ache
that
dulled
her
senses
.
“
Shall
we
rest
and
eat
?
”
