The cool wind seemed to cut across his cheeks. It harshly passed with a whoosh, rubbing on the softness of his skin. Silvery-white strands went astray from the tight bind of the braids on the youth's scalp. The loosened hair slipped out from the black cloth that wrapped around Moulin's face. It covered half of his face, from the bridge of his nose to the base of his chin.
From afar, he stood on a cliff, and the vast lands of Meian presented themselves beneath his gaze. The rivers he had once remembered had dried; although they lived without the presence of the sun for years, they appeared cracked and dry. Vast luscious green forests that had stretched for miles and miles away now looked dull and lifeless. The trees were like towering black needles protruding from the earth.
And its magnificent mountains... now looked as if everything sinister was residing within it.
What was once a prosperous and vibrant land was now reduced to something dead and colorless.