The Haunted Hills host many things, not all of them human, not all of them living. But right now, they are desolate. Not even a crow to be seen. Clouds brood overhead, and the wind steals away warmth with each soft sigh. 

An old pathway weaves along the bases of the hills here and passes beneath the leafless branches of a dead tree. Patchy brown grass scatters across it where the dirt hasn't been tamped down.