From publisher blurb:
Journey into a rustic valley consumed by a curse cried by an angered child...
Stepping out of the mist, you come over the rise to see far below you wide farm fields filled with large shaggy cattle, a well trodden dirt road bringing you down the hill towards what looks like smoke rising into the air from homes on the horizon. The smell of pine and woodsmoke and rain is heavy in the air as a light drizzle falls. There is a silence that blankets all, which is comforting at first, but then it becomes almost too quiet. An old faded sign set into the hillside near you reads, "Welcome to Almsford" in peeling letters with once-red maple leaves painted on it. It was probably a pleasing sight at one time, but now it feels tired and worn. Behind you the mist rolls off of the two small ponds on the other side of the tall hill, almost pushing you forward.