Dear Trillium.

I yet have to see of any signs of savior around this forsaken land. The grass is as malnourished as I, and the water is a brine that could attach a limb back to its host if one were to be lost. The path to follow is between a valley, either worn by the rain or by those who used to inhabit this island. I have yet to see any signs of civilization, so the accusation of none being here remains.