The walls had been made of a red volcanic stone which had been transported across the desert. Half of a tall pillar which had been erected to designate the position of a well still stood. Red and Blue paint decorated the top of the pillar which when complete ended in a minaret. They would stop here for a rest and to take shade.

Ruins had a beauty other than destruction. They were like traces on an old woman's face with endless stories. Missing parts would leave room for the imagination. Stripped bare, character lingered in each crevice. It was the only time he would pay attention to buildings. Ruins lay on the earth as remnants of the cycle the other Guide had spoke of. Little by little air and wind would whittle away at each block. Like most ruins, this settlement possessed a ghostly energy when you walked through each passageway. He knew that a collective energy from both stone and the hand which built it emanated from the land. Then it was time to go again. . ...>