Dust swirled in the distance, puffing up and wisping into heavy clouds before falling in a dry rain onto spindly vegetation that spotted the road side, following the winding trail far into the horizon. Occasionally the wind would pick up dust and whip it high into the sky, revealing a colorful entourage within the gusts, nearly invisible and organic as they blended in the landscape like a field of brightly flowering shrubs. The quiet, persistent bleating of livestock fell around them, far before visibility would permit a glimpse, sheep and goats trailing ahead, shuffling around several head of sallow oxen, lanky and meatless in the sparse terrain, continually stopping to grab a nibble of the plants before receiving a shove or a whip to plod forward.

As the group neared, there was a faint yell following after them, disappearing into the distance with the dusty trail, haunting them with its threats and insults. Every few steps one of the travelers would cast an angry look behind and shake their head in despair, or turn around to raise their hands in the air and send back a curse or similar threat.    They were small in number to be trudging into the barren desert, comprised of thirty or so people, many bare foot on the hot sand and spaced out over a good distance, the livestock taking up the lead along with a few of the smaller donkey-drawn carts spitting dust into the path of a dozen large shanties built to hold four people and their meager possessions merrily clanking with the footsteps of the livestock. There was nothing glamorous in this parade, weary against the scorching sun, losing footing on the uneven rock and following shadows of illusion, every step another mirage.

Amman looked back to the fading epithets continually rising toward him.   Of all the things in this world, why did he have to be the courier of a curse, as wonderful as it was?