Sandstorms - The Desert's Fury

It starts as a distant rumble echoes across the horizon, like thunder on a demon's tongue. The sky darkens, and a swirling wall of sand rises up, blotting out the sun like a funeral shroud. The air grows thick with dust, and the wind screams like a tormented soul, carrying sand that grinds against the skin like sandpaper and coats the tongue with a thick layer of grit, like a mouthful of broken glass. The sky becomes a swirling mass of yellow and brown, like the maw of a raging beast, the sun swallowed whole by the relentless storm.
Camels and horses huddle together, whinnying in fear as the sandstorm approaches. Men and women cover their faces with scarves and turbans, but there is no escape - the sand stings their eyes, clogs their noses, and chokes their breath away. The sandstorm rages the land for hours, even days, it's victims are at the mercy of an unforgiving and furious god. They cannot move without being buffeted by the wind, they cannot see without squinting through a haze of dust, and they cannot breathe without covering their faces. Even then, the sand finds its way into their lungs, making every breath a torturous ordeal.
Camels and horses have been blinded and suffocated by sandstorms, their bodies buried beneath the shifting dunes like tombs in a graveyard of giants. Men have been buried alive, suffocated by the dust, or driven mad by the relentless wind, their screams lost in the howling tempest. All that remains is to huddle down and wait, praying for survival in the face of the desert's fury.