No accurate map has ever been drawn of the Vaarnish Interior: the territory seems to defy rational organisation. This is a place without borders, the horizon between blue sand and blue sky no longer a stark dividing line but rather a molten membrane that swims and drifts woozily in the sun’s wine-red heat, the land making and remaking itself just as a lizard sheds its skin.
The blue sands retreat from the wind, revealing structures that have lain dry and deathless and undisturbed for aeons, and then those same restless dunes shroud the ruins once again, before a living soul can name them. This is a country vast and blue, as deep with secrets as the ocean and twice as capricious.
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