Azedebo sits on the foot hills of a large mountain range called Ambareecho. Theres plenty of greenery, waterways, and animals throughout, but the community knows it best for its incessantly blowing wind. That wind soars down from the 3,000 meter peaks and flushes the arid soil from all the lands and roads into the air. Like the rain, it inevitably falls; in your hair, on your clothes in your eyes and of course into your home. The small town is perpetually covered in dust. You brush it off, but seconds later another gust blows through, or a another giant truck thunders by and the air is thick yet again. I have already grown accustom to the barren taste, and I think that Ill continue to manage just fine, but then again, I have some help with doing my laundry.