-2nd Rest-

I have resorted to a crude method of tracking our time here—counting the number of times we stop to sleep. It is far from accurate, as the duration of our rest periods has become increasingly difficult to gauge. Without the sun to mark the passage of hours and with our clocks rendered useless, there is no longer any meaningful way to grasp the flow of time. We sleep when we feel the need, wake when we are able, and continue onward, all while the gray sky hangs over us, static and unmoving.

I believe that, at the time I am writing this, we are fully In the Graylands now.

The further we ventured, the last traces of color drained from the world around us. At first, there had still been faint hints of green in the grass, though muted and washed-out, as if struggling to cling to its former vibrancy. But now, where we stand, all color has vanished entirely. The grass beneath our feet is a uniform shade of gray, blending seamlessly into a rolling hill of grassy gray. It is as though the very essence of life has been leached from the land, leaving behind nothing but a desolate monochrome.

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It feels as if we’ve stepped into an old black-and-white film, one of those reels where the world exists only in shades of shadow and light. The effect is uncanny and disorienting. There is no vibrancy left here—no warmth—only an endless, oppressive grayscale that stretches in every direction. The sky, the ground, and even the air itself seem to have adopted this dull, lifeless pallor.

With the vibrant colors we wear, we stand out in stark, almost painful contrast against the background of gray. We look like foreign objects in an alien landscape, loud and jarring against the subdued world around us. As if we are a disruption, an anomaly in a place where life has long since surrendered to the slow, creeping decay of time and hue.

I can’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude for the vibrant, brightly colored clothing we’ve donned. Even if the graying wasn't a threat to us, I suspect that being immersed in this endless expanse of gray would have taken its toll on our minds. There is something profoundly unsettling about the sheer monotony of this landscape—an oppressive uniformity that weighs on the soul. Without the bold hues of our caravan breaking the bleakness, I wonder how long it would take for the Graylands to dull not only our surroundings but also our very spirits.

Thankfully we didn’t have any trouble with the engines of our vehicles and were able to depart right away after we rested.

I sincerely hope we find the gray flowers soon and can leave this place behind. Already, I feel as though I've had more than my fill of the Graylands.