The long arc of sand at twilight.  Wind-blown skirls coming off the ridge, shimmering in a shaft of sunlight through the hills.  He smelled baked rock and, carried by the wind, the pepper and acacia scent of the western desert.  The wadi, a long-dry riverbed, opened out from the hills before him.  He tried again to walk its path, up past scrub vegetation rife with thorns, climbing toward the launch site that was hidden behind the outcroppings ahead.  But the ground was porous, rocky; it gave with his every step, so that he slid backward in the attempt.  The stones of the ridgeline seemed to draw away from him.
Only in my dreams, this Africa...
And woke up to snow.
The flakes had been falling all day.  The woman who woke him turned from her window seat, leaning forward to block the view of wing and taxiway.  "I'm so sorry," she said.  "I didn't realize you were asleep.  I needed to get my carry-on before we took off."  She nodded at the compartment above their heads.
"Allow me."  Marion unbuckled, stood, sprang the twin latches.
"The green briefcase please," the woman said.

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