Afternoon found us in the middle of a scarred, wind-scourged landscape.
The bitumen storm that we endured through on our way out of The Wastes had been partially covered over by a second Scourge Wind. This one was a sandstorm of a fine white grit that contrasted in eery surreal with the black tar sands.
Gnarled twisted trunks of once-living trees were covered in the gunk, looking like ghouls standing in huddled misery along the desolate stretches of the highway.
Corwin had found his way onto the rooftop through the sunroof of the vehicle and, without much ado, had taken off on his hoverboard.
He had not flown in awhile and I knew he needed the extra energy boost that it gave him. I was also glad he had taken the initiative to get out for some fresh air.
