*Link's name is Leo here...I changed it for a new original work but it flows with the two previous chapters, hope you enjoy!

Encircled by a mountain range lay an immense field; south of this field sat an indifferent town; surrounding this town sat a two-hundred foot wall; on top of this wall sat a crow as black and evil and imminent as death itself. Its head tucked below the arch of its wings, its eyes glass beads, its mind pulsing with the knowledge of the things dwelling below. Its figurative shadow could drench the town below in darkness. It stood small only now. It opened it wings, an ink stain across the sky, and took flight, down towards the indifferent town of Feara. While other bestial birds occasionally parted their beaks to dine, call, or vacuously be; this crow traveled silently with its mouth closed, always, permanently, it seemed. It stopped on the chimney of a cottage, felt the family beneath its wrinkled feet, the mother and the young boy. One by the stove, the other at the table. It waited there, listening to their voices travel up the hearth, then left. Down it dove until it glided five inches above its shadow on the ground. It winded through paths no wider than three bodies across, past doors and windows, over stray cats that flinched as its claws grazed the tips of their ears. The alleys opened to a town square riddled with bodies. It flew among the shins of the people, the ignorant citizens of Feara. How could they not see it? How could they not hear it? Not feel the wind of its wings or the tickle its feathers left behind on their calves and thighs? Its presence went unknown, hiding in the lull, so imperceptible its existence could (and should) be questioned. Sung and laughed children, and clicked the tongue of a carriage driver, and rang the bells of the church and schoolhouse, and chimed the clock-tower. And also squawked the crow. It stopped on top a supply stand.

Leaned against this stand was our hero. He heard the flutter of wings, mistook it for a voice, and, when he looked up, he saw that the crow had moved on, sailing off to disease the rest of the town. It melted into the shadows of an intersecting alleyway.

Leo watched the spot where the crow had left him, thinking something else might show, then returned his attention to, essentially, nothing. Behind him a clerk gathered supplies he had requested, ahead people orbited the fountain, to his right were rows of stands and store fronts, and to his left were the abandoned gallows, the town's greatest shame. It was the only place in the town that seemed to be in a forever shadow. Leo never paid much attention to it; its nooses hung as decorative paintings.

On this day, the day this journey arguably begins, a crowd was gathered around the gallows, a man standing on its stage in front of them. His shaved head floated comfortably in the space between two nooses. He was halfway into his speech when Leo tuned in. The speaker's cadences were hard to ignore, unfortunately. His voice preluded death for the deaf. "What have they done to care for the victims or to protect those who haven't yet been afflicted? What research have they done to help us understand this epidemic and give us a chance to stop it? What have they done?! Please, let me know!" The crowd was rapt. Leo, who had noticed the clerk had stopped gathering his supplies to listen to the speaker, turned and rapped his knuckles against the stand's counter.

"By next year," the speaker continued. "Half of you standing before me will, in one way or another, fall mentally ill. Four of you will be diagnosed with a personality or anxiety disorder. Three of you will develop chronic depression, if you haven't so already, and a few, an unfortunate few, will completely lose their minds...along with their motor and communication skills, the perception of their world, their grip on reality..."

The speaker himself seemed schizophrenic; his speech pattern jumped between dismay and giddy condescendence. "And maybe, just maybe, one of you will become a psychopath and go on a killing spree." He paused to enjoy their reaction then said, "Raise of hands, how many of you know someone who in the last five years has been diagnosed as mentally ill or mentally impaired?" Seven hands went up. "And now keep them raised if that person is still alive." Four dropped. "What about out of prison?" 2 dropped. The speaker looked at the lone survivor and asked, "A friend of yours?"

"My sister."

Leo lifted himself off from the stand at the sound of the survivor's voice. He knew him. "Sir?" the clerk said after Leo, who was already ten feet away.

"I pray for you and your sister," the speaker said. "May she never get caught. And may our savior soon return and bear the marks of bravery around his neck."

"Sam!" Leo barked, worming his way through the crowd, which, like cattle, stood heavy and still.

"Oh, Leo.." Sam refused to look his employer in the eye. The speaker had silenced. "W-what are you doing down here?"

"What are you doing down here?"

"I-I'm taking my break. I'm sorry I've been gone so long, Elizabeth said that you said-"

Leo walked away, knowing Sam would follow. "I'm more concerned that you'd listen to a gallows speech than take a long break."

"Excuse me!" the speaker called after them.

"Don't look," Leo muttered to Sam. "Just keep walking."

The speaker, dressed in a suit of a worn-in purple (which wouldn't fool most), leapt off the gallows stage and landed in the middle of the crowd, a yellow ring of dust rising around his feet. It was uncanny how quickly he reached the two young men. Frightening, almost. He spoke to Leo but smiled at Sam every other word. "Do you two gentlemen have somewhere to be or are you just denying your friend of the truth?" His eyes were frantic.

"I'm not denying him of anything." Leo turned only to find the speaker had materialized in front of his path.

"Are you trying to invalidate the epidemic?" The speaker had this horrible habit of looking around the crowd and sporting this rehearsed face of disbelief. "…It's people like this!" he cried, pointing a finger at Leo, "Who are living in denial and trying to convince the good people of Feara that this is all is our heads!"

"I'm not invalidating anything." Leo made another attempt to flee but failed. At his knees and clinging to the fabric of his shirt was the speaker, a distressed child, on the verge of tears.

"How can you say that?!"

Leo let his eyes wander about the crowd. "Let go of me."

"You don't understand-"

Leo jerked himself free and walked off, quicker, with his pet following close behind.

The two young men were almost out of sight when the speaker called out, "Have mercy! I'm begging for someone to do something! Gods, please, somebody do something!" The crowd roared as Leo and Sam turned the corner of an intersecting street.

Sam glanced over his shoulder. Leo said, "Don't look back."

Leo and Sam dodged questions like 'New vests, made of genuine leather; why not take a look?' and 'Spare a few?' and 'Hey, baby, how's it going?' with the answer of 'I don't have any money' as they made their way to the trolley. The trolley was nothing more than a weathered cart. Its attached cable ran steeply upwards. Leo and Sam, like most, never saw where it ended.

The land enclosed by Feara's wall was, unfortunately for most, uneven. Where the wall stood tall, the town was dark and dense. Where the wall seemed short, where its top could almost be seen, is where the land rose and the citadel stood. This palace, made of the finest marble, sat there, a fat prince, high above the town. It was the only place that escaped the shade for all daylight hours and the only place with a living garden. Where the garden stopped, the shadows and barriers began. From outside the wall, the citadel could just barely be seen; its highest gable poked its head over the wall to look at the remaining world. Most trolley-riders stood in front to see the palace blessed in sunlight. Leo, who considered the view something he was far too used to, stood with Sam in the back. The two of them watching the town get smaller as they rode.

"I'm sorry I was listening to a gallows speech," Sam said.

"I feel like if someone told you to jump off a cliff, you would."

"Well, maybe there's a soft bed at the bottom with a beautiful woman in it." By the look on Sam's face, he was embarrassed he had said something so fanciful.

Leo didn't laugh, of course. He didn't even smile. He had a dry sense of humor, if one at all. Getting him to wryly chuckle was a sign of comedic genius. His relationship with the jocular Jack, a worker of his, was brittle. Jack needed to know when to stop; usually he did. In fact, all of Leo's workers needed to keep their boundaries in check; usually they did. Their voices hushed when Leo came sulking by. Whether they were afraid of their boss or if they were afraid of Leo was unclear. It was probably both.

"And maybe the nice stranger really does have sweets," Leo muttered.

Sam abandoned the conversation and looked out past the wall towards the pink strips of clouds that ran across the sky. Two nearby women wearing the most mundane fabric struck conversation and Leo in turn began to stare at them. There was something about the way they spoke that drew his attention; he couldn't tell if he was infatuated or irritated. They let their eyes peck at him.

Leo's appearance mirrored his behavior. Down to the rough bangs that fell over his brow, he was austere. Under arched eyebrows were blinding, deep-set blue eyes that were always angry, between them sat a perfect nose and below that, a diamond-cut jaw. He was incredibly handsome, of course, but not kind-looking in the slightest. This was probably why the women eventually looked frightened.

Sam and Leo, the last riders, got off and watched the trolley roll up into the sunlight.

"We missed the sun," Sam muttered.

"There's always tomorrow." When he wanted to be, Leo was decent at faking sincerity.