Once upon a time, in a land now overgrown and lost, there was a magical lake. In itself, the lake was rather ordinary with its crystal-tipped surface and a light silver mist hovering over it. However, where the lake was situated was far from ordinary indeed.    Lake Furkan, as it was known then, swelled in many places at different times, and not one person ever saw it in the same place twice. This caused a problem, as one tends to get a hefty thirst when riding under the flaming sun and over scorching sand, so weary travellers depended upon it. You may have guessed – Lake Furkan was located in the middle, at the end, or somewhere in between the desert dunes. And not just any old desert – it was in the Sahara Desert itself.
        It was said if you were to bathe within the turquoise waters of Lake Furkan, your youthful looks would remain for one hundred and forty-two days, and seven seconds. If you drank the water at sundown (when the water shimmered gold), you would discover the world’s riches and learn the art of alchemy to maintain your treasure. Yet, if you bottled this water and neither drank it, bathed within it, nor dipped your big toe below the surface of it, something truly magical was said to happen.
        However, nobody had ever seen this magic. You see, by the time weary travellers happened upon Lake Furkan (you can never find it by looking, you’ll understand), they would have dry throats from sand storms, burnt faces from sunstroke, and the thirst of a camel’s aunt. There was, nevertheless, a sign at the perimeter of the lake that explained exactly what they must do if they were lucky (or unlucky) enough to discover it:

    Bathe in me when blue
    And your youth will stay with you
    Drink me when I’m gold
    And your fortune will unfold
    Don’t wet your lips or skin
    And your adventures will begin
    So bottle me and keep
    If it’s magic that you seek.
    But if you do all three
    You’ll break the law of Cree
    And soon you’ll understand
    You’ll never leave the sand.

        Many scoundrels and gentlemen had read this sign and yet in their greed, they attempted all three. This, my friend, had resulted in a rather odd-looking fence around the perimeter of the lake (wherever it happens to magically appear). The fence was sure to make your spine tingle and knees knock, as it was made up entirely of skeleton bones. But this is not a story about skeletons or bones; this is a story about a boy named Hannan and his Arabian pony, Sahar. So, let us go back and begin where all great stories arise – with a choice, and a promise of adventure… [End of sample, folks!]