From the sweltering haze of a mirage, a four-legged figure plodded into the mouth of tunnel P. Carefully, and cautiously, she treaded over the sand that had blown into the cave, as if she was walking on the back of a sleeping dragon.

Danakil was what she called herself, once upon a time, but names were no use when survival was all that mattered. Where she came from, a single misstep meant the difference between life and death. Of course, she had it a little easier than most creatures in the desert, being a camel and all. That didn't make her immune to being eaten, however, but she could afford to travel far, even through inhospitable salt flats and deadly dunes.

There was always something new and worthwhile the otherside. It's what she lived for.

Like this cave, she had never seen it before in her life. A tingling sense of excitment ran up Danakil's spine. Where did this lead too, and dangers lurked here? There was only one way to find out.

Danakil, plodded onward for a miles inside, avoiding the dust devils that whipped through the tunnel. The farther away she got, the cooler the air seemed to grow. That is very strange, very strange She thought, but Danakil was no stranger to strangeness. The land had traded its scorching heat for bitter, white snow and utter darkness. However, this was a new kind of strange.

Was it just her, or did the temperature almost feel... pleasant?