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The baked hard pan ground cracked and split. Mountains rose sharply against a sky murky with dust and debris.
No vultures wheeled in the sky above. This land had long been picked over, and even the birds knew better.
And in the distance... nothing. A haze obscured what could only be more wasteland.
White with the bone dust of those who had tried and failed to survive the crossing.
That he would attempt the crossing seemed likely. After all what was left behind him?
All the clear spring water in the world couldn't save him now. All the society upon the earth couldn't undo what had been done.
Silas sat at the edge of the grassland that gave way at the wastelands edge. Leaning against a small and twisted tree in what shade it could still offer, a straw of dried grass between his teeth as he considered.
If every person on the planet chose to forgive him, to forget his sin, it would be as if it never happened.
He knew from history it wouldn't be the first time such a thing had been done, and likely it wouldn't be the last.
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Having you as a Voltie would be awesome.