Virgil and I somehow found our way to the edge of the forest and entered a desert. The burning sand was a harsh contrast to the cool hard soil we had just become acquainted with. There were groups of nude sinners gathered like cattle. They would be crying with pain if the atmosphere hadn't already dried out their eyes. Some of these men were sprawled out over the sand, some were squatting in it holding themselves for comfort, and other roamed perpetually.
From the sky rained small flakes of flame, as if a far off volcano had erupted and never stopped spewing ash into the air. Each flake landed on the sand making it heat up so that it burned the bodies and feet of the sinners further. Their skin ripped in small holes that soon opened into larger gashes. In reply to the heat, the bodies of the sinners twitched and squirmed in very inhuman ways. It was as if some other force was yanking at them. They would try to brush off the fire but once one flake was removed, another always took its place.
My guide warned me to stay close to the edge of the wood rather than stepping onto the sand. That was the way we traveled farther into Hell until I felt someone tug on my robe. It took me a minute to pull his image from my memory, especially considering the way that his skin had burnt. It was Brunetto Latino. He influenced me during my time on Earth and I admired him a great deal. Possibly more than anyone I had met in Hell thus far. I told him that, if I had my wish, he wouldn't be in Hell.
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