[The smell precedes them, thin and acrid; it clings like ozone after a rain. An old woman, her ragged dress hiked up past her knee, limps around a boulder. She is barefoot, and the gravel clings: with every step she hisses in pain. Beside her, spreading and flickering on every updraft, floats her Gastly.]
[Her eyes narrow, and her face slackens into a grandmotherly smile.]
Well, dearie.
[She drops to one knee, elbowing Gastly aside, and peers at the map.]
Let's see if we can give you a little help with that, mm?