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The relentless sun beats down furiously upon the ceremonial travelers trekking across the wasteland, and, to his frustration, the young suitor is the only one breaking a sweat in the scorching heat. Guessing he should be thankful, as he does not have to wear loads of ritual threads in the merciless, barren environment (which could have been the case), he straightens his posture from his anguished, moping position as the troupe continues. Of course, the face that he is completely nude and exposed to the thrashings of the planet's star does not really set put him in the greatest mood. The burning sands beneath his feet, worse than the ones in the camp both in temperature and texture, the harsh, mocking wind whipping in his face, and the dry, abrasive air irritating his throat and lungs, causing him to hack and cough frequently, only add to his discomfort. Now he just prays that they will hurry up and arrive at the pit so his brain has something interesting to concentrate on before it sizzles away into a crispy, charcoal mash that only understands lustful commands by a Klax princess.

Well, that fate would not be too bad…