They were hard to look at. The eye would not be drawn to them, not for long, before a sense of shame and loss forced one to look away. They were less than shadows, incorporeal things without true form or substance that flitted about, dancing to and fro amidst the falling snow between the collapsed and ruined buildings that at first glance, seemed little more than jagged rocks conveniently laid out in nice patterns; which was weighleighed by the road leading through them. Handy and Whirlwind advanced cautiously, wary of the strange things that did not seem to notice their presence at all. The air felt strangely heavy and melancholic. A knot began forming in his stomach, not from fear but from a sense of loss that he could not understand. Their own movements felt slow and ponderous, like moving underwater.