It's snowing; soft, fluffy snow that blankets this little triangular park and obscures the outlines of the houses. A snow plow rumbles past, blasting slush over a deserted bus stop. You guess it's eight or nine in the morning. You're hungry and bone tired, but you permit yourself a quick smile as the Tahoe rolls away, because you made it.
This was once the land of the Broad Brook Caern, but you don't know who rules here now. Without guardians to protect this land, are its Banes and horrors boiling over to adjacent territories?
More snow gusts. You feel like a ghost, here in this unfamiliar place. As if not even the spirits have noticed you yet. But then they seem to gather around, cold and cruel, taking your measure. A shadow passes through the trees at the far end of the park. Then the snow settles, and you see college students at the bus stop, office workers looking for parking, people out walking their dogs despite the snow. Normal people: the People of the Map going about their everyday lives. You're the monster here; you're the intruder. You remind yourself to step carefully among people and spirits as you cross the park and start to explore.
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