I knew Jake – the cashier – lied.
They’d been at the trading post, no doubt.
The gaudy knick-knacks. A leather tassel, hanged
in a nail-style noose.
Dead giveaway – the rear view mirror, with a Sharpie choking out a plea for help.
In 1777, a French soldier called this place magnifique mais corrompu.
When fugitive Emanations break through the Seal, they wreak havoc.
Libiticus is a Scourge.
He has collaborators. Like Jake.
Unfortunately, I’m too late to help the hikers.
I can’t tell you that a Watchkeeper is a noble job.
Tonight, at closing time?
Jake won’t say so, either.