yes yes yes yes yes yes yes
there is a jealous yes set to sand
not the friendliest of places, that ice will consume you and the sand can't feed a soul except for downed and drowned beards and shirts...
but a flat-end place, tis... and walking for miles, you can see the world spread out her arms more and more, under the hush of holes and dried life, expunged of all face: just sullen terra, and you mutter slow lowing "oooeesh, oooeeesh" ... not a bit of imagination, just full-on candor.