John trekked down the hill with his hatchet in his hand, and his bow, quiver, and deerskin rucksack on his back. He was looking for some new shelter, preferably the place his parents had mentioned. "What is that?" John asked nobody in particular. There was a small speck, in the distance. As he got closer, he realized it was what once was a small town. It had 8 foot tall wooden walls, and guard towers at the four corners. And it was empty. "This is awesome!" John said, walking in through the gates. The town had long since been abandoned and looted, except for a few books (items were extremely cherished by John) and the occasional arrow. John took one of the bigger houses and set his rucksack down on the floor. "Home sweet home," John said as he sat down on the floor with a old and yellowed book he had discovered long ago.