You start walking in the direction of the old museum, keeping an eye on the sky for more presents. Your hearts beats faster with every step, but still you see nothing. The town seems so empty in this middle of the afternoon, and you suspect that many of the residents are at work or hiding in their houses to get out of the burning sun.
You walk into the little stone patio of the museum and suddenly feel eyes on the back of your head. You whirl around, but there is no-one there. A shadow cast upon the bare ground from a distance catches your eye, and you look towards the source: a figure upon one of the cliffs that boarder the town, a man.
He is standing on the cliff, watching you silently. You notice that he seems to be wearing some sort of a blue uniform, with a blue peaked hat sitting crookedly on his head. He raises a hand; a silent greeting to you, and only you. You glance around uneasily. Yes, it’s for you.
A second later and the hand is withdrawn, but the man’s eyes are not; frankly, the staring is becoming creepy. You start towards him and, with a running jump, manage to go from the ground onto part of the cliff. You clamber up the rock-face, dirt crumbling under your fingertips, moving over the stones as though they are water. Your own grace and agility surprises you.
The climb feels like an arduous forever-journey, whereas, in reality, the bit that you are scaling is easy-going and not high from the ground. But the tilt of the land is deceiving here.
Finally you come out onto the complete, flat stretch. The man is not far from the edge and you stand in front of his stretched face, wide mouth, and eyes that are still inspecting you. His expression, on the other hand, is still without motion.
You scowl and open your mouth to question him, but, ethereally, he already knows what you’re going to ask.
“I’ve been watching you. I’m a friend.”
The stranger says nothing else, but takes something from his red flat-satchel and extends his hand.
What does he give you?