Polythreme screams. Polythreme screams and rustles and moans and whimpers and whispers. The noises of Polythreme are of pain, of despair, of brotherhood. That scream is like no other. Fear, and an intimacy that will never be regained.

You race over to the street of crumbling white walls. One shatters into dust and stone shards and a Clay Man. He screams, 'NO! THE MOTHS ARE EATING ME! GET THEM OFF!' You can see that the Clay Man is Unfinished - he is missing tiny chunks from myriad places, all over his stony body.

Clay Men often wear no expression. When this one looks up at you, the look in his eyes is something like murder.