This day, the tortoise was awoken by dirt falling on its face. Its body was aimed towards the entrance of the burrow, that was being whittled away. A whistling noise accompanied an unusually strong wind in the air. This wind pushed around everything not nailed down, including the very earth.

Curious, the tortoise left its shelter and found itself unable to lift its head high. This sweeping wind threatened to carry it away, but the shell and its sturdy legs told otherwise. The skies themselves were perfectly clear, with only a bit of darkness on the distant horizon. This was the offshoot of a distant storm that was just passing by.

Such things were rare in the desert. Judging by how violent these stray currents were, it was a good thing it wasn't passing overhead. With dirt filling in its home, the tortoise decided to check out its afternoon burrow. Thankfully, due to its placement, it wasn't suffering too much from the wind, just a bit of collapsing, outside debris wasn't being pushed in.

However, the residence of its neighbor, the place taken over by the scorpion, was directly in the warpath of the air itself. In such a condition, surely the scorpion would come out, annoyed by the dirt falling on it. Something did end up coming out. Not the scorpion. Flies. Dozens of them swept away by the wind to distant lands.

After seeing this sight, it would not be blamed if it just holed up until the situation abated. It didn't do so, insisting on its daily schedule. It started a slow, even slower than usual, journey to the oasis. With every step, the land itself gave way. Not due to the tortoise's presence but its claws tearing up the soil and making it easier to carry away.

Not even a trail was left behind in its wake. The land before and afore it were practically untouched. Scars and blemishes were shed in every waking moment. The underground, normally hidden from the world under several layers, was revealed and became the topsoil before being scrapped away again and again.

This soil was red in color. The world itself was bleeding from this event. The soil carried on the wind sparkled in the morning sun. Beautiful and deadly. In reality, the ground was simply high in iron content, the metal that made blood red.

Squinting as it went along, the tortoise teared up slightly from dirt getting in its eyes. To get to the oasis, it had to go against the grain literally as every grain of anything assaulted its body. These specks of iron and sand left their mark on its shell and irritated its skin. From birth, tortoise's were destined to get calloused skin and worn shells.

The only relief was the plants with roots strong enough not to be carried away. Just like yesterday, to escape the elements, it dragged its body through thick grasses and spiny underbrush. Their sharp touch was far more welcoming than the earth's wrath, seeming to welcome the tortoise as they faced a common plight.

At the lake, there lived a tree whose roots gently embraced the lake. Upon the tree roosted the local vulture population. They swayed in the wind and didn't dare to fly in this weather. Still, they felt the urge to watch over all so they could act upon any opportunities. A readiness programmed into them since hatching or even before.

The water was red, appearing to be blood at first glance. Iron carried by the wind tainted the water. A scene straight out of a horror story, but it was still water. The tortoise went up to the edge of the lake and was only able to force down one mouthful. The heavy taste of iron saturated the water source. Wasn't very clean to begin with but this pushed things over the edge.

A toad crawled ashore from the water. A tail on its behind showed that it came out too early. Life and death on land for this toad began with a single leap caught by the wind. Hapless, the toad could do nothing as it was slammed against the oasis's tree and puked out its own organs.

One of the vultures tried to glide down for a free meal, only for the wind to guide its wings far away. Off in the distance, the vulture left the wind's influence and faced a sharp decline in height. Like a slap from the gods, the vulture was ruthlessly slammed into the ground. And there it came to rest for all eternity.

The tortoise watched over this with disinterest. Far from an actual threat, the wind was just a nuisance. Its body could endure anything the wind could carry. Creatures that relied on jumping or flying through the air were punished by these divine winds. Meanwhile, the humble pace of the tortoise appeased them.

Back at the burrow, the tortoise came to hold out in the afternoon and then some. Nothing could motivate the tortoise to go back out in that weather. It calmly kept a lookout while listening to the natural music of the land, hoping tomorrow would be better. This hope would not be achieved as great things were in store for the tortoise. And what great thing has ever come about without a bit of suffering first.