On the Savage Frontier, Human Lives Are Like Grass

Winds from ancient times sweep the yellow sand across rows of earthen houses and dried-up riverbeds. The cooking smoke above the settlement grows thinner by the day, game in the mountains wanders farther and farther away, and the murky water is steeped in the anxiety and despair of survival. The elders occupy the deepest caves and hoard the fullest stores of food, using ancient customs as a cloak for exploitation. Young adults come to blows over half a piece of meat, carving the law of the jungle into their bones. The old, the weak, women, and children huddle in the drafty corners of earthen homes, waiting for a tomorrow that may never come.

There are no gods to offer protection, no unexpected fortunes to be found. Only the bare laws of survival rule everything. To stay alive, some sell out their own people's whereabouts; some kneel before the powerful and eke out a wretched existence; others cling to a shred of decency in desperation, only to be battered by reality. Beyond the settlement lie dense forests prowled by tigers and wolves, and outsiders coveting its resources. Within it lie layers of exploitation and oppression, and a quiet descent into ruin.

Here, kindness is a useless burden, and fairness an empty illusion. Everyone struggles amid the barren land and the darkness of human nature. The weight of survival crushes too much dignity. Those unwilling to sink into despair try to find a way out through yellow sand and blood, yet in the end, none can escape the shackles of their age or the cruelty of their circumstances. All that remains is a series of lowly cries, swallowed by the wind and sand.