The sand, warm and fine, sifts between my hooves. I am Zephyr, an Arabian Oryx, and this endless expanse, the Rub' al Khali, is my home. The sun, a relentless eye in the sky, beats down upon my white coat, but I am built for this. My coat reflects the heat, a shimmering mirage against the dunes, and my body conserves every precious drop of moisture.

I remember my mother, Luna, her horns, a majestic crown, teaching me the ways of survival. "Zephyr," she’d say, her voice a low rumble in the dry air, "the desert gives, but it also takes. You must learn its secrets." She showed me how to find the hidden waterholes, the ephemeral springs that appear after a rare rain. She taught me to dig for tubers, their fleshy roots a lifeline in this parched land.