The swarm materialized suddenly as I walked along the forlorn path. A light emitted from the agglomerate, seemingly generated by their swift, graithly movements. As they descended from the black ether a buzzing became discernible that, as they approached, slowly revealed itself to be more of a cacophony of electric voices. The entity—for the glowing orbs commingled into a near solid mass—blocked my path yet simultaneously appeared unaware of my presence. The strange old woman I encountered when passing through Felgin warned me not to walk this road tonight; she muttered in her tittering way of speaking something about moving stars and the Astopards but I chalked her ramblings up to a warped mind. The sun gets to people out here in the remote corners of the Mojave. “They hunt on these nights,” she had croaked. “Minds is what they hunt for, you hear? They don’t eat like other things because they aren’t from here. The dark nights when the moon hides is when they get through.” I t...