The rattling wooden pull cart filled with scavenged odds and ends was tugged along by the tall iron clad figure wearing the remains of a cape around the air holes of his helm in order to keep the ash out of his lungs. He was semi-stumbling forth, he was tired. So tired. Huldmans Stand, a small fortress before all shattered was somewhere in this area, maybe it would be intact? Maybe it would have other survivors? Maybe he was going to die tired in this wasteland. He'd have to rest soon, but for now at least; in the dim, brief, bitter flashes of light he could march a little further. He mumbled bitterly, "...God damn them all..."