The ground, rock. The trees, dead. The air, dry. The gritty ground went on for miles upon miles in the desolate wasteland. Archaeologists would call it heaven, but the hundreds of poor, thirsty animals who had given up hope after getting lost in that land would beg to disagree. Of course, even to the average, normal human, this place was rather largely unknown, and would likely stay that way. The slow, sweltering heat gave those, close to death, the hope they wanted with it's cruel mirages of what seemed to be a truly beautiful oasis, before smashing their hope bare moments later. Countless animals had died, and now only their bones were left. Left to litter the barren land as warning signs to those who think themselves to have a strong enough will to get to the other side, if there is one. The trees, though dead, were strong, so much so, in fact, that it would take that of a small explosion to even get close to destroying one, let alone a two, three, or a group of the iron trees.