There is a place in Silesia where I live, and it is called the Moroko pond. In winter, the sun sets over the hrysonite around 3 p.m.
It is phenomenal, but depressing, because although I don't like winter, I could use some snow to brighten the aura.
He feels like a prisoner behind bars, who has limited visibility and looks longingly at the remnants of heat quickly disappearing on the horizon.
