Autumn comes to a small city, followed by milk-like and seemingly endless fog, greyish clouds blanket the land in rigid coldness. Waves of harsher and darker clouds move over the boundless sky.
Streetlights shining with their unique hue push back the endless darkness, while the stars are drowned out above the heavy clouds. Only the moon is visible through the heavy veils of the chilly night, leaving the city's lone lights to guide people on their way.
The shade of people, animals, and even objects like fences cover roads and ground. Regardless of where? When? How? The streets at the end attract all and every dark patch to occasionally change the nightly urban scenery.
Shadows—long, tall, small, and some unrecognisable—fill the streets from time to time, fracturing the monotonous late evening with their constant predictable presence. They crown its ghostly and loathing embodiment.
A silverish cat wakes up under the somewhat still calm branches of an elder tree, irritated by new winds fuelling many changes, in the mood of people, and animals, down to the hectic movement of the first to the last blade of grass. Deepening the night's hostile, alien grip.
Nothing blocks the glow of streetlights, but more and newer dark patches cover the streets and ground as if they were the parade of an autumn evening. Sharp winds move with sounds like howling, filling the outside air with unwelcoming sounds, feeding the fear of those outside.
Bothered by shadows, the wind, and its screeching noise, the cornered little brave is pushed to the trunk of the elderly elder tree. Its uncharacteristic attempt of threat does not land, no hissing or movement changes the will of the wind. The little animal is pushed to look for a new place to rest.
The horde of shadows is already unwelcoming, promoting quickly the need for running, the dark mass of unknown is quickly chasing. Till a line where faint noise of people becomes present, forming the line between what is safer, calmer? And what is not that for long.
In the edge of the city, behind the walls of buildings, where hurtful winds are hardly reaching. The city is welcoming to its new guest, with silence and monotone motion it invites deeper into itself, calmly and warmly waiting. But even the city is somewhat changing, step by step the change is constantly present.
Might be the problems of the city too much even for a venerable giant? Or do they suit the invited little knight?