Ligaa trudged through the tall grass, stopping by a crumbling section of wall. He stooped to pick up the large metal nut he had thrown with the rag wrapped around it and stuck it in his pocket before sitting down. Throwing the nuts had shown him where he could walk safely; rather, where the Zone wanted him to go.
Ligaa lowered his rifle, settled back against the wall and looked around. Despite the dilapidated buildings, the rusted tanks in the field, and the far off cry of some dangerous animal, Ligaa was at peace. A slight breeze ruffled the trees beyond the field, a few rays of sunshine poked through the overcast sky. A feeling of serenity came over him.
The Zone would praise or punish anyone it chose. Scavengers, trespassers, adventurers, loners, killers, explorers and robbers alike. But Ligaa was a Stalker. He knew the Zone, what it wanted, what it was capable of. He feared it. He respected it. But above all, he loved it.