The barren Donau Wasteland extends with withered grass.
Silent, desolate.
Shrouded under a dome akin to lead. A flock of Geese flew overhead, their mournful cries echoed among the reeds in the wasteland. Amid the decaying grass and cracked land from the end of autumn, everything was swaying under the autumn wind.
At the corner tower of Witherspoon, sentinel of the Pigiel race, Apia was leaning against the summoning bell behind him, secretly preparing to take a bite from the frozen cheese in his robe.
Piegel's greatest hobby is food and Apia was no exception. The weather was getting colder, and being up in the high tower, apart from eating some private stash of food, there really was no other pleasure.
