If you find the pattern.

Smoke will curl from something and the narrator will second guess their own perceptions of a noun. Something that’s buried deep beneath the ground will awaken and something else will rumble without reason. A door will open in the distance, on the side of a mountain. The old mountain has a stack that bellows more smoke like a chimney. The fog doesn’t curl but it settles in. Hangs around just to block your protagonists vision. Something else rumbles again for no reason.

Your protagonist will say, “did ya feel that one?” Your sidekick will sniff the air and wiggle his nose.

You’ll continue on down a road made from black stone. Your narrator will fumble over the meaning of another noun. A statement before a question and a statement again.

Further down the path, obsidian rocks grow from the curdled desert out of liquid Metal. And it rains again and rains again and rains again in the fucking desert. It’s always the fucking desert or it’s about to be.