In the cloudless, bright blue sky above the desert, a dark dot appeared, which was rapidly approaching. Within a few minutes, one could see a plume of thick smoke, which left a trail in the blue sky. The group of riders stopped and stared in fascination at how beautifully against the background of the sky white-black streaks of smoke and burning, left by the falling plane, were drawn.
It was now clear that it was a plane. It was possible to distinguish the fuselage of the falling aircraft, and the noise from the engines was heard. Flares and pops accompanied his flight.
The plane drew a trail in the sky and went beyond the edge of the dunes.
"Honorable Sheikh, are we going to look at the crashed plane? It is an hour's drive away from us and, judging by the absence of an explosion, there is something to see there," one of the riders said to a tall man in oriental clothes, whose face was covered by a shemagh, and only his eyes were visible.
"No, Gifar, I'm not interested in this, and business awaits! It's time for us to go back."
The young man moved the horse, turning in the opposite direction from the point of the plane's fall. The rest of the horsemen followed his example.
After a while, the Sheikh turned to Gifar galloping just behind him:
"Next month we wanted to hunt here, remind me of this plane, we'll stop by and look at it."
Gifar nodded, holding his horse so as not to overtake Sheikh Arshad, and once again turned to the dune behind which the plane had fallen. The column of black smoke that always accompanies explosions was not visible, which meant that the plane was able to land. But, in a month, there would be no one of those who managed to do it.
The desert is merciless to those who invade its domain.