The Sentinels les moissonneurs

He had not set foot inside of the land called Donnelaith yet, but neared it now. The trek away from the eastern ridge had been a harrowing experience fraught with concerns; there were dead creatures all over the land, and nothing but death all around. The colors had vanished with the swarm, and with them went his heart. Renoir felt his chest seize with guilt when he came upon a barren forest - a few locusts still greedily nibbling at a few scraps of leaf litter - as he found the stark nature of the landscape vaguely appealing. The land was imbibed with a new sensation now, a new feeling, and Renoir could not put a name to it. Ennui was not a strong enough thing — perhaps vide? — though he did not dwell upon such thoughts for long, and dragged his tired self towards the territory edge. He wondered briefly if the angel girl @Deirdre was nearby, or her dear father, but did not wish to alert them with a howl — surely they had more pressing matters to worry about.