Greyness fills the air, which tastes like ash. It is warm, humid and still, almost sticky. The air is filled with the sounds of birds, oppressively loud, shrieking and fighting in the trees up ahead. The sand is also damp and grey with ash, the beach littered with debris: jagged chunks of trees, lumps of coral, huge clots of seaweed and driftwood. Even the green, ruined jungle and fields ahead of you seem coated with grey -- everything is a mess, muddy and tangled. And the vines are tangled not just with broken branches, but broken bodies... there are bodies everywhere, almost indistinguishable from the rest of the debris at first, except that the birds are settling on them, tearing at them, and now you know why they are fighting.