Stench drove the more sensitive animals from the wheat field, attracted the scavengers, which were repelled by their presumably dead prey attempting to eat them. For weeks feral dogs and raven came from the city, returned, ran away again.
Interested and with some level of contempt a raven sat on the old scarecrow watching the undead man stumble through the field. Others like him had come before, got lost in the field and were now groaning heads in the field. Over time the dogs had learned to tear away the legs, return for the arms later, leaving the torso for maggots and raven.
The undead stumbling through the field was different though. He did not wander aimlessly around like the ones that had come before him.
He walked in a straight line.
Almost as if he was drawn somewhere.
Curiosly the raven looked in the direction the corpse was stumbling towards. No sounds, other than insects, birds and even more insects, originated around the field. No attracting smells like fresh meat or blood were lingering in the air.
Abruptly the undead stopped.
Interested the raven looked down on the walking corpse again, it’s head tilted slightly. Slowly the wheat waved in the wind around the undead. Barely noticable the ashgreay skin tightened as the undead man turned his head, two weeks after his last meal he stared at this deathly bird with a blind and on seeing, but dead, eye, while the sun set in the west, ending a warm autumn day.
Too late in the day for dogs.

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