The wasteland, dead and silent. The only sound comes with the storms, when the countless sands are stirred and take flight. Even here, though, the cruel winds are mostly dead. Here is the silence and solace of a graveyard.
In a sense, it is a graveyard, a memorial of sorts. Reminders remain of what was here, of this land when it was pregnant with life before it was dried and dead. That great city of glass still gleams as the sun strikes it, shimmering like a star on the horizon.
But the land is forever barren now, a sprawling waste.
Tale Told 