In the late hours of the night, a troubled young man was skulking about in the Wheatfields of Overton. It was discouraged, but he grew up exploring the wheatfields and easily navigated through the tall crops.

Looking ahead of him with an indifferent expression, his hands were tucked into his pockets of his worn out jacket. He strolled aimlessly through what was almost endless rows and rows of wheat crops around him by himself. He always did prefer to be by himself.