He’s been chasing the desert for so long that he’s already forgotten what grass looks like, even if he knows how it lives and dies. It’s basically a fast-growing weed that needs so much water and sun that it’s not worth it to keep alive purposely.
He’d much rather listen to the crunch and tickle of withered yellow grass underneath his feet, even if it comes with a mixture of wind and sand in his hair and eyes. (There’s always a price to pay, even if he’s not the one who pays.)
Then, when he’d trekked for long and far enough to and through the desert, he knows he’ll eventually reach the end of the land, where sand finally meets water. And there, he’ll sit in the shade of the oldest palm tree, knowing that even if it’s left behind it will continue to live and grow and spread its branches until its leaves disappear into the four corners of the earth.