Long ago, the big folk walked this land. They built great stone caves, laid impossibly straight stone paths from horizon to horizon, left countless metal tools and mysterious machines, and then, no one knows why or where, they went away.
You stand somewhere between a bandicoot and a wombat, because you may well be one. A creek is a river to be forded. A stormwater tunnel is a dark road wide enough for trouble. A farmhouse is a castle with a hundred rooms, and a hardware shed is a dungeon stacked with treasure and guarded by whatever moved in first.
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