Like Fairybook Beasts

Spectators drifted away, the narrow street emptied. Some of the Americans had wandered into the cold waters of the stream and were splashing about and they clambered dripping into the street and stood dark and smoking and apocalyptic in the dim lampfall.

The night was cold and they shambled steaming through the cobbled town like fairybook beasts and it had begun to rain again.

–Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian, 190.