The air is chilly and the leaves are flying around like small tornadoes, clouds are darkening to a ripe grayish color and eventually it starts to rain. The drops pelt the ground ceaselessly like a bombing raid, and there is a thick fog all around that looms with a feeling of uneasiness and unrest. Something is not right, not complete, not whole, not finished. Thunder cracks the dark sky as lighting gives it a quick scar.
As if created by the lighting, a man appears in the fog, blurry at first but clearer with every step. He opens the gate and proceeds with little fear to a stone and ponders for a minute. His face looks two shades purple with his left eye puffed up like a balloon and six stitches above his right. …
