The God Of The Wastes was out there somewhere beyond the dunes, buried in the sand. She was the god of death. She was their protector. The God Of The Skies stretched above. He was the god of life. He was their creator.

The stories of the People told of a time when the tears of the God Of The Skies had fallen on the wastes, splash, splash, splash, forming the three oases the People called their homes. To travel between them, one must set out at dawn in the direction the elder indicated and walk straight from horizon to horizon, then again, then a third and a fourth time. When dusk came the next oasis would be in sight. If it was not, the God Of The Wastes had taken you.

In all other directions lay the lands of the dead, from whence the restless spirits sometimes came and charged the air with malice. When they did, the God Of The Wastes threw up sand into the air to force the People to stay inside their homes until the danger had passed.