A flurry of whispers caught his attention, and he spun back around, fist clasped firmly by his waist around the head of his hammer. Nothing. No one was there. There was nothing but the road. Everything else was mist and trees and lies. He stood stock still, his head still feeling full and uncomfortable. The world swayed this way and that, as if he were on a boat at sea. The whispering became more prominent, though still he could not pin its source.