Издания и произведения

Сетевая публикация The town is called Driftwood, though there isn’t an ocean for three hundred miles. But they have one hell of a storm. It’s the edge of the map, the end of the end, and also the very beginning. From far enough away, it’s just a smudge on the horizon. From the streets of Driftwood, it’s a wall of swirling cloud that reaches halfway up the sky. It’s not beautiful. It’s just a billowing wall of dusty, pale brown. But if you get closer—if you leave the town, if you go almost to the point of no return—you might see a gap in that wall. You might get a glimpse inside. It’s another world.