You are the only child of a chieftain who leads a tribe of nomads who wanders through the wastelands, your clan is small but close. You are bright and have a yearning for understanding but this hell scape is all you have ever known. When you were little your father taught you an ancient art passed down from his father and so on; the art of reading. Books are scarce in the hundreds of years since the bombs dropped so you haven't had too much time to put this to use... Until today.
While scavenging you come across a eerie little wreckage of a house that despite the stench of radioactive, rotting watermelon-scented shit, you dig through the remains of. Eventually you find a treasure trove of literacy... Picture books colored magnificently with artistry the likes of which you've never seen. "Sonichu"...
You spend the entire day reading them. What do these books teach you of the old world and those who came before? How do they make you see the world around you now?
While scavenging you come across a eerie little wreckage of a house that despite the stench of radioactive, rotting watermelon-scented shit, you dig through the remains of. Eventually you find a treasure trove of literacy... Picture books colored magnificently with artistry the likes of which you've never seen. "Sonichu"...
You spend the entire day reading them. What do these books teach you of the old world and those who came before? How do they make you see the world around you now?