A barren arid land. In the middle of nowhere. There are trees, devoid of any leaves, languishing about. This land, as dry as the most rain-bereft corners of the Sahara, rarely sees any outsiders come about. If you were to visit, you would encounter a smell akin to pine cedar. If you listen closely, you can make out the faint sound of wind, rustling about the wide plain. The trees feel dry, the branches jagged. The grass tastes like ash. The faint outline of green mountains lies in the distance. Here there is nothing but the earth, and that voice from afar.