Caravan moving westward
The battles have begun. War has come. For many months, the leaders have tried to hold it off; they have talked, they have traded, but the rebels could not be persuaded.
Now, inhuman savages roam the country, killing at will, taking everything that is not anchored into the ground. The last of the Natives have packed their camels and turned their good fortune over into the hands of God or Allah or whoever else is watching. Before them lies the endless desert, behind them endless destruction. They packed all that they could carry, food for the long trip, water in every possible form, bottles, cans, fruit jars. And still it won’t be enough. The desert is a deadly country, crossing it a suicide mission.
At least this death is willful, planned, anticipated... And a glimmer of hope remains. If everything works out, if the sun does not roast them, if the water is enough, if the camels don’t give in, they might make it to the other side.