Humanity drying and dying on an cruel beach… a lone Gunslinger walking, facing stubbornly to the North, his companions both mad and sad… the Dark Tower draws them on. Destiny for one man is death and reason to his companions.

'One more Drawing,' thought Roland as he stumbled forward, fever gnawing, 'if I am to live that long…'

Another thought goes through the Gunslinger's mind as they move along:

"Ghost fingers itch worse than real ones, 'cause there's no way to scratch them."

Strangely, Roland missed the man in black. It was nicer when he had someone to blame for his torment.