I fell and the sand shifted against me, still warm even in the pale glow of the early evening. I had walked all day from the crash site and my body could give me nothing more. I lay with my cheek against the dune and breathed heavily, watching the sand stir near my mouth with each breath.
I should have stayed with the plane. Walking the dunes of the white desert I had little chance of survival. Even the Bedouin, navigators of the stars, led no easy life here, and I had crunched over the bones of camels in my wanderings. Tears squeezed out of my eyes as I closed them and trailed dusty paths down my cheeks. I prepared to let the white desert claim me again.
Then I felt something on my hand, rough and scaled. It moved slowly against me and through my hand. I didn’t need to open my eyes to identify the creature. A cold chill shattered my fear of dying of dehydration, and I slowly lifted my hand away from the snake while trying not to sink into the sand as I moved away from it. It turned languidly toward me and flicked its tongue. The snake had a curious triangular head with two horns cresting over its eyes.
“Why did you come to me?” I asked the snake in a dry, broken voice. The desperation in my own voice surprised me. The snake, unsurprisingly, did not move. The moon continued to rise over us and the snake’s scales were beautiful with dark striped and light striped patterns. What an odd time to notice beauty.
The snake waved its tongue at me again and then turned away. I don’t know why it had come, but I felt compelled to follow. I had seen no other animals the whole day and now, a snake that had not attacked me. I doubt it really held significance, but I had nothing else to grasp onto at the moment, and I needed hope.
I watched the snake’s trail in the sand, smooth like cursive across the night. I walked after those loops and imagined the snake writing me a letter, a guidebook in the sand. I noticed small mouse-like animals hopping off into distant dunes and scarabs scrambling away, punctuating the letters with dashes and dots occasionally, but I never lost sight of the snake. I wondered if the snake would have attacked if I had gotten too close.
With effort I rose over another dune and watched the snake slithering away. I cried because I could see palms and small scrub bushes and I knew I could get to them. I thanked the snake and nearly fell down the sand dune in my effort to get to the oasis. I discovered that although the snake could effortlessly carry itself down the sand, I did much better climbing along the edges of dunes.
I arrived at the oasis, dusty and hot, but grateful. Two palms, and several scrubby bushes sidled up to a reflective pond, and I stared at the man in the moon for an instant before dipping a hand in. It was not sweet by any means, but it was wet. As I quenched my thirst I looked up and saw a snake on the other side of the pool peeking out of the scrub. It had the same crested head.
“Thank you,” I said, “Even if it wasn’t you.” I raised my hand to that snake and it stared at me indifferently, and I felt a warmth for that cursive-gliding dunerider.