In the many months and years he had wandered with or without the demonic trainer, there was only one truth the black ninetales knew. One truth amongst the falsehoods that surrounded traveling, whether it was alone or in a group:
His sapphire blue eyes squinted against the stinging sands as he helplessly and fruitlessly tried to navigate through a raging sandstorm. There was no path, no markers, nothing but miles of blasted, damnable sand. He felt the stuff in his eyes, nose, mouth, ears... every orifice was clogged. He coughed, which only allowed more sand to choke him. He shook himself as he gagged a little -which did absolutely nothing, of course- and he once again tried to find his bearings. No stars, no markers... he could barely tell what time of day it was. It seemed a hopeless situation, but then again, he needed hope in the first place.
It was then that he turned to his left, a direction that simply felt right. His gut usually never let him down, and it was the only guidance he could lean on. Trudging blindly through the whipping sands, he happened to glance up to see a large opening, with strange spherical statues surrounding it. Not really caring of the possibilities that could be hiding within the depths of the entrance, he bolted for it, his tired body burning of fatigue. However, as he dove in, he quickly discovered the stairs leading down and tumbled along them.
He wasn't sure just how far or how long e had fallen down those godforsaken stairs; all he knew was that he hurt. He groaned as he picked himself up, face and other parts of his body complaining as he did so. He shook himself once more, a fine aura of sand blowing off of him. With an annoyed flick of his tail, he silently trotted forward, the light jingling of his chain echoing ominously throughout the cavern. Just where the hell had he dropped off into?