Cleaning up another mess. Wind sweeping over the plains, already as if nothing had happened at all. Sunlight. It’ll be a long time without again, but I think we’ve all seen enough. It’s places like that village that make me think it’s a mistake to give the surface-dwellers any free rein. We should consolidate it all already. Not a popular notion, for sure.

Light crawling over the surface of the planet, of my skin where it’s exposed, warming the clothes where it’s not. Feels wrong to have the better mood creep right along.

Enough lingering. Time to leave it behind. Let someone else take care of the next stages of the clean-up. Except. Different shade of green over there.

That’s not a uniform green meadow. Human figure lying there, is it? Heap of clothes, layers. Is it another… No, this one’s alive. Movements weak. Resignation etched into the face.

Nothing that can’t be fixed. We’re taking that detour.