The clouds thick as they were did little to impede the harsh sun, leaving the world dark and hot, the worst of both worlds. He walked a slow trot through the dead crops, his home a dried wasteland once refers to as paradise. Truly he felt cursed by the gods, neither reason nor light nor the cool breeze to make his task seem less daunting. Suffering had been ask he had known for ten months, and all for trying to show kindness, Dave learned his lesson, the next time someone asked for his help he would surely turn them down without remorse save for anyone marked by the deities themselves. He continued until he reached the small psych of land he was able to sustain through the unnatural drought, just enough to keep himself fed, and by no mean well fed, just fed.
Dave had once green a kind man with plenty but as he struggled to start alive he scarcely could recall the splendors his land once afforded him. Life was merely pain and the promise of future pain, though death seemed like even more poison within his mind, it even began hurting just to eat. The concept of poison became meaningless against this backdrop as there was nothing with which to compare.