Wormwood

These are the roads we travel; some roads are good.

Some roads are not.

Sometimes a fallen pole crosses our road.

As long as we travel through the WOLVES' LAND, we only see the shadows of dead villages and ruined farms. We also see the grass that grows beside the road. We call this grass chernobyl, the wormwood. It has a bitter taste. Nature is relentless at reclaiming the land. In some hundred years all signs of humanity will be gone from here. The radiation will stay long after that.