[ Well, that’s a certainly ominous sentence. In Trevor’s opinion he’s done more than enough scavenging and lacklustre hunting over the years to get his fill on the whole song and dance of the thing. The news that it might be even more difficult on this spit of land is not exactly encouraging.

Trevor drags a hand down his face (ignoring the way the small grains of sand dig into his cheeks). ]

Of course, why ask for a boar or deer when you can have a thousand tiny marks instead.

[ He stands up from his kneeling position, making a half-assed attempt to brush off his pants. What’s the point, after all. ]

Seems like you’ve been here for a while, then? How “wasteland” is wasteland?