It is incongruous, a desert in bloom. The vibrant yellows, brilliant whites, and pale blues seem so out of place splashed across the dusty expanse. Gibson tells him the pink blossoms are even more spectacular, but of course he can’t see those any more than he can see the red of the iron ore in the hills that ring their little hideout. He has to take Gibson’s word on that bit, too -- not just that the ore is there, but that it’s protecting them.
“I don’t know why they’re afraid of it, but they are. They will not come here.”