Reblogged from Mary Smith’s Place:

By the time we reached Naoor the landscape had changed. Gone were the jagged rocks and boulders and rugged mountains of Jaghoray, replaced by sandy desert. Sayed drove along tracks made by other trucks; tracks which zigzagged across the plain in a bewildering manner. Everything was bleached and dry, the only patch of colour the hazy blue of a lake, at the foot of a distant line of mountains on the far horizon.

Bellowing to make myself heard above the noise of the music I asked the name of the lake.  Sayed gave a chuckle, the only sound of humour I had heard from him so far, and bellowed back, ‘No water there.’

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