A Doomed Pilgrim in the Ruins of the Future

The desert stretches around me, punctured by a forest of sharp and craggy points of towering rock. I've been scuttling from spire to spire, resting in their shade, desperate to avoid the intense, withering heat that pours down from above and seeps up from the baking sands below.
I have wealth hidden in my clothing and a crossing and criscrossing of scars.
As I stop under a spire to take a sip from my canteen, something warns me of approaching danger. What warns me? Anyone should answer.