Xander followed the snaking path through the field of ripe wheat, guided by the last rays of the dying sun. As the day drew to a close, it painted the sky in a haze of orange splashed with patches of greying yellow.
The tranquil gaze of the twilight sun washed the fields in a golden hue, stretching out the shadows to lifelike proportions.
Everything had suddenly gone completely silent, and the only sound which reached the Dreamwalker's ears was the crackling of dry leaves under his boots as he walked out of the wheat field.
Holding the rusty sickle in his right hand, Xander marched forward, his eyes fixed on the cottage in the distance. It wasn't protected by a fence, but there were tiny garden gnomes scattered around it.
Having been deceived by the Gremkins once, Xander was wary of these seemingly harmless figurines. Instead of approaching the cottage from the front, he walked around it, carefully avoiding the gnomes in his path.
