The morning was calm, and few creatures stirred. This was common, as the path was surrounded by nothing save for the wild grass and the occasional tree sprinkled about. The cool morning air created a comforting and refreshing mist that clouded the plains and dampened the dirt road.

However, the soft sounds of boots that squelched across the mud broke this silence. A girl casually walked across the muddy path and found treading the wet sludge pleasing. She enjoyed the satisfying sound of her weary boots on moist soil and appreciated the refreshing fog that cooled her face. The girl’s hands were loosely wrapped around the straps of her brown rucksack. She walked casually and skipped occasionally, not caring about how slippery the mud was. The air tickled the girl’s nose as she hiked along the trail. She hummed to herself as she walked, a song from her land. She doesn’t remember its meaning, let alone the words, yet she hummed this tune to the rhythm of her steps. It keeps her empty mind occupied during this long journey. Then suddenly, her pointed ears twitch.

There is something ahead of her. The girl’s sharp ears picked up noise a few hundred yards up. With the fog blinding her vision, she could only rely on her sense of hearing to aid her decision-making. She should’ve noticed the deep ruts carved into the mud ahead of her. But she couldn’t. However, she knew there was no imminent danger; the sounds she picked up weren’t hostile. But alarming nonetheless. As she drew closer, so did the sounds, and it became more evident—the buzzing of insects combined with something picking and tearing apart flesh. Something, or someone, died.

She smelled it first before seeing it—the overwhelming scent of rot with hints of sweet notes: chocolate and fruit. The fog was so thick she had to walk next to the wreckage to see the source of the noise. The vultures paid her no heed as they tore at the carrion. The girl needed to know what happened to the caravan, which meant shooing the vultures away so they wouldn’t eat more evidence. The more that was left, the more she could find. The girl closed her eyes and silently cast a spell. While there was no visual indication of the magic working, the results were clear. The vultures gave a shrill shriek before they flew through the mist, leaving their meal behind. The next step is to increase her visual clarity. While wind isn’t her strongest element, she does have some wind spells under her belt. She cast another spell, this time creating a barrier just big enough to house her and an area five yards wide that pushed away the mist, giving her a perfect view of what was around her.

The nauseating stench aligned perfectly with what she saw: A wagon toppled to the side, deep ruts, broken crates of spoiled fruits and vegetables, and a decomposed, partially eaten body. The girl kneeled on the wet ground, caking that portion of her old leather pants in mud. She observed what was left of the figure. The vultures were thorough—they picked and tore right down to the bone. The head sunk halfway into the mud—face first. Given the foul smell it carried through the air, it was clear the corpse had been fermenting for a few days. She rolled the body over and noted the lacerations in the torso. It was clear that a beast with claws had attacked whoever controlled the caravan. She let go of the mangled, decomposing body and stood up. She looked at the wrecked wagon and then at the tracks; broken leather reins followed by deep, fanatic grooves in the soil implied that whatever was pulling the cargo was startled and managed to snap the tough leather.

The girl knelt on the ground again and threw off her rucksack. She dug around for a little bit before fishing out a bluish-translucent tablet. She infused her pointer finger with mana and inscribed her discoveries into the strange slab. Not to detail the attack but to document what potential events are common in the area. The girl shook her head, stored everything in her rucksack, and continued her journey. From what she saw, the merchant must’ve been new to the marketing business and was unaware of the dangers of morning travel through Pomid.

The road she walked on was not maintained. In fact, the area she was in is claimed by wildlife. The tall, wild grass and lack of civilization clued us in. The mist limits one’s line of sight and acts as a shroud for wild animals and bandits. Coupled with the dirt road transforming into mud early in the morning, it was clear that morning travel had more risks than rewards.

The merchant must’ve lacked preservation magic. Merchants transporting fresh fruits, vegetables, or meat flash-froze their goods. More adept magic users could use advanced wind elements, stilling time around the products, which is rare in most cases. If a merchant lacked cold magic or had no hired hands to help, then specific containers that utilized preservation techniques could be bought. However, these containers are expensive, especially for starting merchants. Without the coin of their fathers or from loans, preservation containers were out of the question. The only reason why this person would be traveling this early in the morning was if he lacked the tools to preserve his goods. A genuine blunder on his part, she thought. She continued on her uneventful journey. Until her ears perked up again.

There is something to the side of her, relatively far away. A trickling sound. Water. A creek. When she heard this, her course abruptly changed as she strayed off the path toward the sound. There is not a single thought behind those brown eyes. She moved as though it was pure instinct, the consequences of a long journey.

。 。 。

She stumbled down through the tall yellow and green grass, her hands haphazardly grasping the rucksack straps that bounced off her back. Stalks of wild wheat and blades of green grass would bend back as they connected with the straw hat atop her head, reeling back and hurling themselves forward, which smacked the girl’s face as she pushed through. The field’s grass blades were tall; granted, the girl herself wasn’t exactly on the tall end of the spectrum. She’s approximately the height of two medium shipping crates.

Eventually, the forest of grass ends, and in its place, a slight cliff that’s two feet high. Without hesitation, she sat on the edge and slid off. In doing so, mud clung to the butt of her rucksack, and grime caked her rear. However, she paid it no mind as her clothes were used to this kind of abuse. Her overcoat is protected by a layer of crusted dirt and riddled with claw scratches, clumsy patchwork stitches, and burn marks. This minor inconvenience could be considered another battle-scar obtained throughout the journey.

Once she reached the creek, the girl dumped her rucksack onto the ground and removed her sun-scorched straw hat. She wiped away the condensation accumulating where her forehead and hat rim met. This subconscious decision ended up causing more harm than good, as the dirt that caked her face and hand smeared across her brows.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

She removed her frayed, worn-out leather gloves and knelt by the water's edge. The girl craned her neck and used the water’s surface as a makeshift mirror. She scooped up some water and scrubbed her face. She peered over the surface again to catch any extra dirt she missed. To better see, she narrowed her eyes into a squint; for the most part, the grime was gone. However, she soon realized she had missed some dirt that caked around the two protrusions above her forehead. Time for another rinse, she thought.

The girl didn’t actually need to take this detour to keep herself clean. She was perfectly capable of washing her face with water she made. However,

“There’s no fun in doing that,” she would say. “There is just something novel about washing your face with water from a stream. It’s fun. It’s like, camping.” Once finished, she stood back up and wiped her hands on her leather long coat. This action caused her once clean hands to become dirty again, but she didn’t seem to care. She looked up at the sky and knew she needed to prepare lunch. She peered above the stream. The fast-moving body of water slammed into protruding rocks, which created numerous frothy patches that made it difficult for her sharp eyes to focus on what might be under them. Primitive humans would have used a string on a stick or a trap. Both had a low success rate when it came to catching. As a growing girl, she needed to eat. And she eats—a lot. So, instead of wasting time slow-catching, she closed her eyes and cast another spell. A life-wind hybrid spell that greyed out all non-living things. The heartbeat sub-variant—The one the girl cast, highlighted things that exclusively had a beating heart. Swiftly and without hesitation, she cast wind magic that blew the stream's contents out of the water.

The water droplets glimmered in the Sun’s light like tiny faeries as it sprinkled everywhere. Amid the shower, small, flailing silver trout flopped to the ground—five in total. The girl picked up the panicked fish and began gathering her supplies. There was plenty of wheat and grass, a lack of trees, and rocks of many different shapes and sizes. The grass was lush and full of life. There was no way she would use it as fuel. The wheat, however, was wizen wheat. Inedible and drier than Gonian gin, it always had the trait of soaking up water within seconds till it was dry again. No matter how much water it had. It was perfect for tinder. The twigs needed as kindling was a hassle to obtain, given her location. She knew this would happen, so she put deadfall in her bag whenever possible. She set up some rocks and created a campfire using a primitive technique she learned from the scribe’s archives. She took out a stick the size of a large carrot from her rucksack. She withdrew a dagger, placed it on the stick's top, and began cutting down the middle. The blade was so sharp it cut through like butter. She shaved the end of one half into a triangle and made a vertical notch in the other. She placed the sharp stick onto the flattened part and began to drag back and forth. Once she saw smoke, she picked up the pace until charcoal formed. She grabbed a bundle of wizen wheat and dumped the ash onto it. She blew into the smoke until a nice fire began to develop. She placed the fire into the rock formation and added kindling and deadfall.

The girl liked the old ways of fire-creating. She imagined the times seemed simpler back then when magic didn’t exist. It felt less convenient and more challenging. Therefore, her sense of pride and accomplishment rose when she washed the grime off her face or when the fire eventually came. Even when she inscribed the region’s events, achieving something filled her spirit, and she became energetic. Once done, however, that feeling of accomplishment quickly and inevitability fades. So, she will go out again. To find and sense that feeling. Again. And again. And again.

After she cleaned and gutted the fish, the girl skewered them and placed them above the fire. Nothing like fresh roasted fish! She thought as she closed her eyes and bit into its searing flesh. The fish’s skin created an audible crunching sound as her teeth broke through the crisp outer layer. Her tongue exploded in a vivid burst of flavor. She could taste the garlic and thyme and rosemary, the sourness of the lemon juice, the sting of the salt. Grease from the fat dribbled down her chin as she continued to eat. She chewed once, then twice. When she opened her eyes, reality set back in. Needs salt. She knew this from the beginning. The moment she skewered the trout onto the sticks and roasted them, she knew they needed salt.

Every time during her journey, when she would settle down and eat, she would imagine what the food could have tasted like when at a high-end restaurant. She never got paid for her work, and she rarely had time to enjoy herself. So every time she passed by a quality restaurant on the good side of a city, she would inhale as much of the aroma as possible and try to figure out just what that thing was made of. Of course, most of the time, her imagination was roads off its actual flavor profile. But it wasn’t the flavor she was chasing. It was the feeling the girl would see from others when they ate. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Even in the poor parts of the city, when the workers in their coal-dusted overalls or the sweat-covered guards or the beggar boy ended their day and sat down to eat their two-copper weasel skewer and runtle beer meal, they always seemed to resurrect. Their glazed-over eyes would shine bright, and the edges of their mouths would point up. Even the skin-and-bone dog would swing its tail around at the sign of leftover scrap. She never understood why. Why did humans feel the same way she did when she accomplished something challenging? After all, all they did was chew some food. So how do humans with their struggling lives light up when they consume fuel for their bodies? She could not afford expensive meals, but she didn’t have to. If the poor are so enthusiastic to eat their cheap meals, then it isn’t the food quality that revivifies their soul; it’s something else. But. What?

She always attempted to find the reason for this as she traveled and completed her assignments. She would close her eyes and search the depths of her mind. And she would always resurface with nothing. All these years as a scribe, obtaining knowledge, learning, and experiencing the world. Yet she still cannot find this answer. Eating for her was a pastime. She could have lived her life without taking a single bite of food. It was a hobby of sorts. To find out why humans could feel the same as her just by surviving.

After she finished her meal, she stood up and buried the embers with pebbles and dirt. She grabbed her rucksack and put on her gloves. Once done, she skillfully slipped the straw hat onto her head, which had two holes to fit her horns through, also having the unintentional purpose of holding the hat in place when strong winds blew against her. Once done, she returned to the main road to continue her long journey.

。 。 。

It was now in the middle of the day when the Sun would show its true power, which caused the veil of fog to evaporate, replacing it with a heat that was unrelenting and so hot that the girl felt it radiating through the ground, and into the thick soles of her leather boots. The split and cracked earth crunched with each lethargic step she took, transforming into dust and floating away. Her eyes stung as the heavy condensation that built up above her brows broke and raced down her forehead and into her vulnerable eyes. The girl never liked mid-day travel. It was too hot and stuffy and sticky. She groaned as she dragged her boots across the dusty path. She could never comprehend how the early morning and mid-day could be in the same thirty-hour period. Nevertheless, she never stopped moving. She continued down the road until she spotted several shining dots in the distance. Humans! She thought. And a city! Her cheeks turned upwards as the corners of her mouth spread and stretched across her face. She giggled without thinking. And with newfound energy, the girl sprinted toward civilization.