It is a dull grey december sky. Low clouds hang above the lands. Temperature's well above the freezeing point. You are standing at the end of a muddy path at the bank of a huge draining ditch. Water is slowy floating past. Withered reed is waving slowly in the gentle breeze right before you. You hear geese gathering in a field for their onward journey to the south and the faint bell of a clocktower of a small rural town nearby. On the other side of the ditch you notice something which could be a small trodding path among the reed leading a small wooden wind mill standing lonely at the water. These types of mills were once widepread and were used to pump water from the marshes into the ditch all over the low lands to gain land for farming and settlements. You feel eyed and you see a curious three legged rat following your movements. As you move closer the rat hides in a dark hole. There exits west, back along the muddy path >_