The West is
lost. Your hopes are dead. There is no paradise beyond the War. No matter what you say. The world is ended. Forget your dreams and forget the lies
whispered at fireside. I have been
West. Further than most. Further than you. It is gone.
The untouched land is narrow there, and grows ever narrower the further
you go. I travelled those paths years ago seeking your dream. I found nothing but death and decay. Nothing but the folly of man and the unending
power of Nature’s revenge.
You wish to travel that way still?
Best would be if
you stayed here. Here where at least we
can wrestle life from the bitter ground.
Here where there are few people to taint our path. If you must go you would best travel but part
of the way. Stop at a place I visited
It is a place where a miracle did happen and every day they lived knowing they could survive only if the miracle kept happening. They had Machines. Working ones. From the days before. How? I cannot say. With miracles there is no how. There is just to rejoice and hope.
And hope is all that remains.
To get there? Follow the rumours. Follow the caravans. I have a map, but you have not the trade for it.