He was cold and wet. It started too long ago, this thing he called life. Nowadays, he traveled with a group of wanderers, all of which were indifferent to each other. There were times when they used to care more, but the location, the paths they walked..all held innate gloom and misery. Tonight he had guard duty with Harren, the youngest of them.
The embers burned, and the wood crackled lightly. As the smoke rose into the air, Harren became uneasy. Everyone was silent here. People only communicated when it was absolutely necessary. That's what made this place depressing. People gathered and worked arduously day and night, into the early morning. The benifits were just meager enough to sustain their misery until the next day of work, hence the cycle continued, unless someone decided to break it. The ones who did died, not at the hands of the group, but the dangers outside of it. This was Mosnia, and that meant danger. Mosnia was often reffered to as Earth's 'dream world'. Som