The sound of the wheel turning echoed through the full-moon night, each rotation carrying the scent of damp earth into his lungs. The wind crept over his skin like worms as eyes appeared on the walls, watching him. The road narrowed to almost nothing, and a voice whispered his name. In the thick silence, the clock’s hand began to tick again, each beat slow and foreboding, as if something awaited him at the next stop. 'When will this stop moving?'