The morning casts it's heating light over the desolate wasteland below. The dreading warmth dig it's way through sand, bone and flesh, leaving little room for shadow. Today however the light has a challenger, clouds litter the skies, remnants of the nights voilent rain storms. The clouds can't banish the heat, only cease it's chances to fool the minds.

Through this sea of bare earth, through this land of the dead and dying travles a lone shadow. It's a little lioness, her dark grey-brown pelt makes her nearly invisible to the wet greyish soil of this forboding landscape. She doesn't seem scared, nor disturbed by this ravaged land, and neither by the vultures who perch themselves in the withering trees. Watching her every move, hoping that another one have come to seek a final rest. But the vultures will be quite disappointed, this little lioness has no intentions of dieing here.

She keeps on walking with a determined stride, ears gently lowered while her working eye keeps a constant watch for danger, she scampers over an old elephant spine and through the ribs of a giraffe, both subcome to either hunger or dehydration. Kisirani doesn't know when she will have crossed this maze of mud, trees and stone, if she doesn't make it through, she will remain here as an omen for others who dare cross this dangerous terrain of mud-holes, and thus truely live up to her name.