The world spun again. When Clark came back to his senses, he was standing before the Kent family farm once more. It looked exactly the same as when he had flown over the farm and landed there.
Clark stood where he was, took a deep breath, then let it out and walked inside. But in his eyes, everything had changed.
He first looked at the scattered bales of hay. If he remembered correctly, those things should have been stacked at the far end of the right side of the yard, one atop another, three or four meters high. To scatter them across the yard like this, someone would have had to go around outside the yard and knock them down from the air.
Knocking them over would not have been enough. They had been bound tightly; even if they fell, they would only roll away whole. To completely scatter the hay, someone would have needed to cut the ropes binding each bale one by one.
Then he looked at the tire tracks. Clark did not know much about cars, and he did not drive often, but he knew not every vehicle could spin in circles on the spot.
More precisely, most commercial and civilian vehicles did not have drifting capabilities that powerful. They could not drift back and forth, turning around seven or eight times in a small yard and leaving behind so many blackened skid marks.
Then there was the collapsed half of the house. That side had been a stone warehouse, built many years ago. The final skid mark pointed directly at the warehouse's load-bearing wall. The warehouse had been brought down by a collision.
The warehouse might have been made of stone and might have stood for many years, but stone houses built by hand in that