Ezekiel was looking for one thing when he stumbled into another.
THE GROUND HERE
The ground here was definitely softer than the surrounding area, of which he had been travelling through for little over three weeks. He had lost count.
The sun was beating down mercilessly on the back of Ezekiel's neck, and his mouth was just about as dry as the rest of him. Absent-mindedly, he righted the thin cloth around his head that is would protect the raw, exposed flesh, swallowed with unnoticed difficulty, and then continued to look at the ground beneath his feet.
There was a crack in it.
Truth be told, the dessert was filled to the brim with cracks, and uneven patches, and the ever-rare green that chose to sprout where it dared. However, none other were like this one, and no other such ground, nor crack within it, had called out to him quite like this one had in all his nomadic travels. It sounded as though it was praying, and perhaps that was the attraction. Ezekiel enjoyed feeling his skilful power and great wisdom needed, and felt this crack in the ground deserved the benefit of the doubt. His assignment had been to find a space in which he could plant the three objects in the satchel he carried on his person always, tend to them, and return them to the people of his village, that their crops would grow, and their babies would not die quite so early, and The Sickness would leave them all alone.
Before he'd even made a move to set his plan in motion however, the crack opened up and Ezekiel found he was falling, and falling until he could fall no more. Until he landed painlessly and was in a place a particular percentage darker than he'd known darkness to be.