The darkened night sky is only pierced by the scattered points of light given by distant stars burning unfathomable distances away. It is cold, the heavy humid air wet upon the ground. It is a field of drying dead. The plants having been destroyed for their precious foliage, the rest left to dry and later be burned. It is a cycle, something that occurs whether man wills it or not. This evening something rustles in the brush, something not from here. A visitor to this land, searching for its essence.

There is a noise and the creature stops, its yellowed eyes drawing upon the sound, the air being brought to its nose. It has seen these hairy large rats before. They are primal and smell of ages long gone. They are clumsy creatures and announce their location as if a trumpet. Quietly it waits for the other to pass. It has been traversing some distance and still it can only hope its journey draws near its completion.

It continues on, silent through the dead brush, a ghost moving through a field. It crests a smaller hill, padding up to gaze upon the lights from the buildings in the distance. With a glance about it spies a nearby building looming and cold. It feels uneasy, it knows the smell that lingers in the air. It is something unnatural, but that is not its purpose.

Quickly it turns and is sprinting down the small dirt road leading to the farm. A small dark patch in a world of dark headed for a city of lights.