"Worse," Jake said. "The Tower is shivering. It’s not just the beams anymore. Someone is ringing the bell at the top."
In the high, thin air of the Borderlands, the sky had turned the color of a bruised plum. The sun was a pale, flickering candle, guttering in a draft that blew from the gaps between universes. Roland knelt by a stream that ran with silver liquid—not water, but the liquefied memories of a city that had never existed. He didn't drink. He knew the price of drinking "Used Time." "He’s coming, Roland," a voice rasped. The Dark Tower
Roland Deschain did not stop when the world ended; he simply adjusted his pace. "Worse," Jake said
Around its base, the field of Can'-Ka No Rey was no longer filled with red roses. They had turned white, then translucent, then disappeared entirely. In their place grew teeth. Thousands of them, pushing up through the soil like jagged grave markers. Someone is ringing the bell at the top
He stepped inside, and for the first time in a thousand years, the gunslinger felt the wind change direction.