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Wasteland Scaling the mountainside came naturally. To the untrained eye, each jaggy formation of dull, grey rock looked the same as the last, but not to him. They were born to this harsh, unforgiving landscape. Shaped by it. They knew its dangers as intimately as they did its beauty. And it was beautiful, in its own way. Barren, dry, cold. Nothing but stone, dirt, and hardy vegetation. The tough, brown grasses sustained a few wild goats, and in turn the wolves that fed on them. Both were fair game. Meat was meat after all, however stringy. His people were scattered throughout the ranges, spread not only due to scarcity of resources but also self-preservation. Infighting and illness had greatly diminished their number, each winter claiming more and more lives, weeding out the weak. In darker times, cannibalism hadn't been uncommon, the language having many an idom relating to the act. Though he'd never witnessed it himself, stories had passed down from generation to generation, with many detailing the gristly end of those consumed. There were two main tribes, the largest having a small plot of land for growing starchy tubers, as well as being situated by a part of the river rife with fish. The other was nearer the deer grounds and mostly hunted. Food was more plentiful there and fairly consistent, but the same wasn't true for the rest of them. There were three other splinters, including his own. One had to rely on raiding nearby farms and villages, while another was lucky enough to be close to a rather profitable trade route. As for them, being so isolated meant most nights were spent going hungry. Sometimes they chanced upon an unsuspecting traveller, or managed to catch a few small fish, or shoot down a bird, but it was rare. To get to where the deer roamed would take four nights, to the nearest farm, around six. It was difficult, but he was proud of the existence they'd carved out for themselves. It was all he knew. The outsiders were too soft, draped in flimsy fabrics and smelling of wool or scented oils. He found them ridiculous. There were no bloodied alters to be seen, no painted faces. The women wove wildflowers into their hair during strange celebrations and the children ran around aimlessly for hours. There was barely any sparring, and those fights he had witnessed were swiftly broken up, and usually occurred under the influence of alcohol. Possibly the most bizarre trait about them was that they slept at night, with little fear of what lurked in the shadows. It made them easy prey, but yet this fearlessness, as idiotic as it was, intrigued him.

INTO JAPANESE

荒れ地 山腹のスケーリングは自然に起こりました。訓練されていない目には、鈍い灰色の岩の各ギザギザの形成は最後のものと同じに見えましたが、彼には見えませんでした。彼らはこの過酷で容赦のない風景から生まれました。それによって形作られました。彼らはその美しさと同じくらい親密にその危険性を知っていました。そしてそれはそれなりに美しいものでした。不毛、乾燥、寒い。何もない

BACK INTO ENGLISH

wasteland Scaling on the hillside happened naturally. To the untrained eye, each jagged formation of the dull gray rock looked the same as the last one, but he did not. They were born of this harsh and relentless landscape. Shaped by it

INTO JAPANESE

荒れ地 丘の中腹でのスケーリングは自然に起こりました。訓練されていない目には、鈍い灰色の岩の各ギザギザの形成は最後のものと同じに見えましたが、彼はそうではありませんでした。彼らはこの過酷で執拗な風景から生まれました。それによって形作られる

BACK INTO ENGLISH

wasteland Scaling on the hillside happened naturally. To the untrained eye, each jagged formation of the dull gray rock looked the same as the last one, but he wasn't. They were born from this harsh and relentless landscape. Shaped by it

INTO JAPANESE

荒れ地 丘の中腹でのスケーリングは自然に起こりました。訓練されていない目には、鈍い灰色の岩のギザギザの各形成は最後のものと同じに見えましたが、彼はそうではありませんでした。彼らはこの過酷で執拗な風景から生まれました。それによって形作られる

BACK INTO ENGLISH

wasteland Scaling on the hillside happened naturally. To the untrained eye, each jagged formation of the dull gray rock looked the same as the last one, but he wasn't. They were born from this harsh and relentless landscape. Shaped by it