It was almost impossible to make out the lone figure, shuffling slowly across the expanse of sand, far below. Only his movement gave him away. Wrapped in pale shreds of clothing, caked in tan grit and burnt red by the oppressive sun, he was all but a part of the desert already. Anubis, crouched in the shade of a rocky outcrop, panted his jackal tongue in an effort to cool himself. The heat of the clear day was extreme, the weight of its pressure, unrelenting. He pressed as much of his bare skin against the rocks as possible, his fingers spre...