Our intrepid travellers, with hearts as tender as the painted visage of one and as innocent as the ruby-eyed gaze of another, traverse a path of variegated bricks. As the sun perches high, alighting thoughts of sustenance and rest, we find our sojourners by a brook's gentle burble, sharing in the simplest of feasts.
Dorothy, child of the sun-baked Kansas plains, unfurls memories of a sepia-toned home, painting her past in the colours of longing. The Scarecrow, with the innocence of his newness, yearns for understanding—brains to comprehend the intangible tether of 'home' that pulls at the human heart.
