An outward portrayal of an internal hell, this realm is truly parched and empty.
Fallen timbers from leafless shrubs lay undisturbed as they lack mere water to decompose.
What new life do they create? What manner of existence do they enact apart from enduring intense heat from the unwavering sun?
All defenses neutralized, the mountains surrounding this valley prevent cloud access, and the few clouds that remain are subject to the full brunt of the sun, dissipating beneath its relentless weight.
Stones array the fields, glazed and hardened under heat as the sun refuses to grant them any semblance of moisture. In search of solace, victims lie prostrate in the fields among rocks, and they themselves become hardened.
Shrubs convey an inner conflict as bark abandons limbs. The antagonist prevails, prying wood open from its viscera and renting its exterior.
What life will be created here?
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