Crimbly, crumbly, shambles in the ranks: look around you.
To your right there is a brief field of charred granules, punctuated by a tottering tower partly constructed of vintage sheet metal; a curious smell of wilted olive flower vents from the chinks of this derelict cylinder.
Behind you is a stone wall, of square stones a span across, not built for structural integrity; detailed depictions of impressionistic juxtapositions spangle the wall, framed in the cracks between the stones.
On your left there is a twisting, winding well, the path of a worm in an apple of crust. How many wells it is, who can tell.
Using a sharp, thin sliver of rock which you unbury from the charred bits, you pry the old lining from an edge on the rickety tower (part of it falls with a silty crash). There you find notes etched in the rust, which teach you the pattern of touching the stones in the wall. When you follow this pattern, a sallow light flickers in the depths of the well(s), giving coordinates in Morse code.
You then set out ahead.
#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/09/11