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. The grass at the bottom tastes like ash. 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 faint outline of green mountains can be discerned in the distance. Here there is nothing but the earth, and that voice from afar.