The baked earth crunched underfoot as they went out into the sun again.

As they left the water and set foot on the hard, baked earth, Smiorgan stared at the forest.

The rain made the digging easier as it softened the baked earth.

Another threw himself on the ground and lay there, pounding his claws against the baked earth.

Outside, the sun beat down on the red baked earth of Provence, but the summer salon was cool.

But he was too close and he could see nothing through the brush except baked, flat earth.

In the garden he looked down at the bare, baked earth.

The floors were baked earth, the chairs simply made and unadorned.

For it seemed to rise from the baked earth itself, be carried on the wind along the river.

In places the grass gave way to bare, baked earth.