The haze dissipates to reveal the Serengeti. A massive heard of Wildebeests, millions strong, moves west, leaving behind a criss crossing system of dry hoofprinted ruts, like streams of rain moving across the outside of a car window. The landscape is shaped by these creatures, the water, the billions of dung beetles behind the herd. There are no cities in the Serengeti.
Though humans have an influence on the desert, it is extremely minor, because we can't get past the guardian. It lurks in the sky and breeds in the muck. It is a festering infection that turns your insides to fluid. It sinks its claws into you like a night lion, and doesn't give in without digging out all of your guts and leaving you to the flies.
It's name is Malaria. Fear it like Cerberus, for it holds its own council regarding who may enter
and who is damned.
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