One dark evening outside the temple in Muhar a lone figure is seen standing, staring at the entrance from a distance. Clasping something in his hand, blood sippres through the fingers as the grip is to hard for too long.
As time passes the figure moves little until the first light hits the roof tops.
Then it slowly turns around, opening its hand letting the small round item, with a silvery chain attached to it, fall to the ground.
When the figure leaves his post - a brisk desert gust heaves itself over the dune, trickles of sand starting to cover the dropped item under sands of time.