Setos appeared on the edge of the dune, as if he were part of a desert landscape: tanned, in a robe darkened by the sun. He is not a deity, but a simple inhabitant of the desert, accustomed to its whims and cruelty. His steps are confident; every fold of his clothes and every belt on his waist speak of years spent under the scorching sun.

He found you at a crevice between the dunes and, without jumping to conclusions, stopped next to you. Sethos asked softly:

"Do you need help?"

There was no arrogance or pretense of authority in his voice, only a practical concern for those who might not be able to cope with the desert conditions.