In the dull haze of a foggy sunset, a lone traveler limps steadily past the gates and through the streets. Their hood is pulled high over their bent head, which faces the ground like a laborer bearing a great weight. Only the familiar clink and clacks of the bone saws hanging from his pack give any indication that the worm wanderer is anyone familiar. For a moment, he stops - looks around - and comes to rest against the beam of a porch. Something was different in this town...Though maybe it was just because heâd forgotten the look of the place, after so long an absence.Â
âWhat a terrible day...â








