The constant thunderous roar of the sandstorm soon drowns out the cries of the caravaneers, of Melody as the wind tumbles her over and disorients her from the direction of shelter-- just as Willem reaches out to seize her shoulder, one slender hand snaking under her arm and gripping her tightly-- and the darkness overtakes them.  The painful stings of wind-borne sand whirling in all direction forces eyes protectively, and soon the rosy shade of sunlight through clenched eyelids is replaced with the glimmer of the after-burn of sunlight on the retinas as the howling wind bears down.  Even under the cart, Pallam hears the sand scouring at his armor, in a constant metal ringing like a long-sustained note of some strange, cacophanous bird.<br/><br/>Then, in the dark of the sandstorm, there is a 'shift'.<br/><br/>The ground pivots... everyone feels it.  The cart wheels, moored in sand piles, jar momentarily free before resettling-- though they cannot look to see it without risking their eyesight, those sheltering near carts can feel them lurch.  Camels, crouching, flat for shelter, shift and sway their necks-- one bobs so suddenly that its thick, furry neck bumps Atsila where she is still ducking for shelter against the stone.  An unconscious and simultaneous cry of surprise from the caravaneers signals that they, too, feel the shift in the ground-- like a sudden earthquake shift, but without the bouncing, or the wave-type tremor that one who has experienced such a thing knows-- this was simply a sudden, inexplicable movement.<br/><br/>There's a cracking and a jostling sound, then the sudden, splintering crash of something incredibly heavy crushing something made of wood.  The wagon directly beside where Melody and Pallam have taken hasty shelter seems to have... erupted... as if crushed by heavy weight, for warm water, fragments of splintered wood, and broken pieces of craft-goods splash them and their cart from an oblique angle.<br/><br/>All goes compleely black.  It's as dark as the darkest night, and the winds howl on, the sand whirling on and on relentlessly as if there is no end.  There's a slipping sensation, as if the sand is thinning around them, but the wind is not letting up.  And then another shift-- this one more violent than the first, an the sound of stone against stone, thudding, again and again, grinding and sliding like the opening of ancient tunnels.<br/><br/>Then nothing.  The winds stop utterly, leaving a ringing in the ears, an incessant singing of a solitary note, the groaning and utterances of prayers and curses that are one and the same.  The sound of grains of sand falling like rain from the air, of settling, shifting sand from a great heap.  Silence, echoing, utter darkness everywhere, and nothing else.<br/><br/>"NO ONE MOVE!" calls a familiar voice... the Chelaxian?  "Oh, oh gods, oh devils... oh SHIT, NOBODY MOVE!"  Then he repeats himself firmly in other languages. 'hold the animals still, no one move.'  There are a few rustling sounds, then a confused chattering in the unfamiliar tongue of a foreign trader, the grunting of a camel-- the sound of sand sliding, more sand, more confused cries, and then a panicked scream with the sound of sand rushing as if through a giant hourglass, and scrambling and flinging of sand like splashing in the surf.  There are many languages calling out then, but no one dares move to investigate.  The sound goes father, but more desperate as it fades with distance, and then ends with two heavy, meaty thuds of bone and flesh crushed against some heavy surface.  "Oh BARZUL'S COCK, I think they just fell--"<br/><br/>but fell from WHAT?