Those tales cling to the dunes because they’re tied to survival – a way to keep track of wind patterns, safe oases, and the moments when a tribe had to outwit a sandstorm. They’re passed on in songs, in the rhythm of a camel’s step, and in the shape of a campfire’s shadow. Each generation rewrites a little, so the core idea stays, but the details shift like dunes themselves. It’s a quiet, stubborn resilience: the stories survive because they’re useful, because they’re part of the people’s identity, and because the desert itself is a relentless storyteller.