Navigating by Starlight

The old desert fox, his fur the color of dried honey and his eyes like chips of ancient amber, nudged Sultan Ali Dinar gently with his nose. "The stars, little one," he rasped, his voice like pebbles tumbling in a dry riverbed, "they are the oldest map of all. Look up."

Sultan Ali Dinar tilted his head back, his young camel neck stretching towards the inky blackness above. The sandstorm had raged and then, as quickly as it had arrived, it had retreated, leaving behind a landscape scrubbed clean and eerily silent. The wind had died down, but the dust still hung in the air, softening the edges of the world. He felt a pang of fear, a tiny, cold knot in his stomach, as he realized how truly alone he was. The familiar shapes of his family and the other camels were gone, swallowed by the swirling chaos.

The fox, however, seemed unperturbed. He sat on his haunches, a picture of calm wisdom, and pointed a slender paw towards the heavens. "See that bright one? That is the Wanderer's Eye. It always watches the setting sun. And over there," he indicated a sprawling cluster of tiny, shimmering lights, "that is the Great Watering Hole. It tells us which way is north."