There haven’t been a drop of rain falling from the sky for the past decade now. The only source of water is the flowing riverbed coming from the southern Kingdom of Ice. From around the snow kingdom is an amass countries of dry soils, broken boulders, and cracked grounds. The wasteland below the volcano to the north is, literally; a bouquet of withering trees and dead flowers. The mountainside is where the elderly, disabled, and the unable residents resides. Every week, an elderly woman clad in a blue robe would wash dirty clothes from her home. Another day, another laundry basket to be washed.
The weather forecast today is especially windy, drier than any deserts beforehand, and the air is exceptionally humid. If anybody got lost here; they would’ve mistaken in their mirage an oasis of walking decaying plants.
“I wonder if my chicken will lay eggs today?” The woman in blues mused to herself as she hummed the love songs her husband wrote to her during his time in the war. The sun above her burns as bright as a candle’s light, leaving red dotting freckles all over her pale face.
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