Scenting Rain

So I've started working on my story with the sentences so graciously provided to me - thank you, thank you, thank you! I have a rough outline with which sentence goes where and I've already taken the plunge headed towards the first. For your amusement, the opening paragraphs of "Scenting Rain," completely unedited and with most of the worldbuilding being made up as I go along:

Gerune stood on the highest temple balcony, drenched in sweat, not rain. Though weary and defeated, she whispered prayers through cracked lips. Her eyes remained locked on the horizon, though too bleary to see anything more than a thin line of blood. She knew each of the three thousand, seven hundred and ninety one sacred winds that made up the consciousness of the goddess, by name and purpose and history, and spoke to them as a family servant might, one who had lived in their household since birth.

There was no answer. The blank sky flickered with mocking stars. A high priest of Terisu had nine days to pray for salvation before she had to admit failure. It was the ninth evening, and a new spring trickled in the shadow of the volcano, but that was not enough. The very fact that this small source of water sprouted in the shadow of the red god's monument condemned her.

The fiery scent of torches mixed with the desert night, burnt caramel. Gerune leaned forward, hands the color of teakwood curling about the rail. The city of Qeva twined below, its roads following the ancient lines of wind upon the oasis. Mud brick glowed golden and copper with the falling sun. Canopies fluttered everywhere, sun-guards washed only by the rain … except now they were dusty, grey, invisible where they once would have shone like pearls.