Fantasy Friday: Not in Wonderland, Part XV

At last she simply trudged into the dawn
That stained the sand and sage in orange and gold.
A painter might enjoy it. Alice, head
Afire, and feeling like she'd grown quite old
Just wandering this wasteland, soon could see
A weird mirage. A table in the dust
Was set for tea. Some figures, maybe three,
Bent over it, but with each passing gust
Of scorching wind, would rise and move along
Around it, on occasion trading blows.
Not far beyond them, Alice got a strong
Impression of a fin approaching. Those
Who reveled there ignored it as they poured
Sand from a pot into their cups, too bored.