Crimson found herself panting heavily by the time they reached a crest in the dry cracked earth. The dust of the desert billowed in the wind, forming tiny dust devils along the plains as the sun beat down upon them. Her cloak was scant comfort amidst the dry desert heat. Winter though it was, and much cooler than last she was here, the mercilessness of the Badlands made itself well known. She levitated a canteen to her muzzle and drank greedily of its remnants. Her thoughts were jumbled and frazzled from the heat of the day and weariness from the trek.