The traveler adjusted his cloak, tugged down his respirator and breathed the salt air deeply.
The traveler watched a spider dance in a web above him; he wondered how it could hang from these invisible threads, suspended by nothing but clouds and dreams.
He knew much of dreams and such things, and tried to push away the growing excitement once more: he took another gulp of air for confidence, and to still his heart.
As he descended the cliff, a mist hit him from the edge facing the water, salt tears gently clinging to his jacket.
The badlands outside had been unknown, once: now, the traveler knew them better than the city.
Yes, the traveler's sightless eyes had seen the whole of the badlands: terrible things, broken homes, agony, blood soaked in the dirt.
But of all he'd seen, he'd trade it all for one Good Thing.
And that Good Thing will lie here: no matter what it is, it lies beneath this broken sky.