The desert wind whipped sand around the lone figure, but at least all the sand in the air kept the sun away, as it would have devistated him in his black and gray attire. Bartholemhew strolled through the desert as if it was a shaded promenade, walking cane in hand and backpack slung on, though he was half supernatural the desert would still kill him without water and food. He had set out two weeks ago on foot, following a gut intuition that he was meant to go where he was going, often he chatted with Bart as he took the back seat in their shared brain, talking about the 1800s and things like the first time he saw an automobile. However a few days ago the pair that inhabited the same body fell quiet as they settled into the journey, keeping good pace to arrive at where ever the hell they were going. Soon the wind died down and the sun was blazing through the dying dust, Bartholemhew took has jacket off and slung it over his shoulder, rather having one less layer then an extra one, underneath he was wearing his suit-vest and gray shirt with a black tie. A cabin-shack of sorts appeared in the distance, Bartholemhew went towards it welcoming the respite it would offer from the sun.