The cobblestone streets were caked with mud when Ilya entered the town, puddles pooling in dips created by the uneven road. The rain had stopped some hours ago and yet the sun remained hidden, preventing its drying heat from reaching the ground.
She had always hated the rain; it would shut down the market and street stalls for days, forcing her to risk illness by running around cold and wet for hours looking for another source of food. Even now that illness as a threat was deleted and nutrition was provided for her, being in this place and this weather put a downer on her mood.
Why then, had she spent so much time and effort walking through weather she hated to this town she resented?
Why else? Her Lady had given her another mission.
“I have thought on our conversation, slave.” Lady Visnavik had spoken hours earlier, staring at her clawed hand as it wept necrotic darkness. “The world has changed around me as I slept, and much that I once knew that is now outdated.”
“You have proven yourself capable of seeing my will done, and so this task falls to you.” The ancient black dragon said, turning to her dutiful servant to properly announce her orders.
“Go out into this human kingdom. Learn of its strengths, its weaknesses, the peoples it has conquered- I want everything you can find.”
Ilya remembered being overjoyed to tears: Her Queen not only verbally recognizing her past efforts but trusting her to get the job done in the future. She had value to someone; expectations to meet.
The memory still burned her cheeks and warmed her core.
Ilya slapped the smile off of her own face with both hands, returning to the unfortunate now. She could enjoy that memory when she actually deserved it.
The work of info gathering had started right away, but Ilya quickly ran up against a troublesome wall. Her main way of learning had always been finding a place people were gathered and eavesdropping on them, but all her usual spots were empty, either of people entirely or just the conversations between them. The market, the lumberyard, the main road, the bunkhouses- the west districts were quiet today it seemed, a rarity in her lifetime that ruined her plans.
With the first half of her quest cut down at the starting line, Ilya’s thoughts drifted to the second half, tacked on at the end just as she was preparing to leave the swamp.
“One more thing, slave.” Lady Visnavik had interrupted, blocking the way with her tail. “A second objective, to be completed or not.” Ilya was slightly confused at the time- if her Lady gave her job to do, how could it possibly go undone?
The dragon had continued. “On your journey, should you come across another like you: alone, shunned, easily manipulated…” Her Queen had drawn out each syllable of the last two words, her grin growing wide.
“Bring them to me. Your wish for this kingdom may be granted yet.”
A new coworker: a friend who she could speak to and listen to and gush over their Queen with. The idea was extremely exciting, she had never had a friend before.
An obvious choice was the destitute women and children of the town: those like her who had nothing to loose and everything to gain. One of them could be saved from their sorrowful life, just as she had- they would be saved and join her in blissful servitude.
But before that bliss could be, the lucky candidate had to be chosen and found.
Finding the children specifically would normally take much time and effort, but Ilya had been one of them for a time, and had a good idea of where to start.
Amongst the winding roads of the Bowl was an extremely narrow side street where orphans and runaways tended to gather. The buildings on either side of the alley were tall enough to block sunlight from reaching the ground most hours of the day, giving a comforting cloak of shadows to those who didn’t wish to be found.
Stepping into the dark alleyway, Ilya found a group of children and teenagers loudly fighting over something- probably food, it was always food.
“We were first!” One of the small ones cried, clinging to someone’s leg. “So we get!”
“I don’ care! My mum needs it more than you!” A teenager shot back, holding something above their head- it looked like the very end of a bread loaf. The way it didn’t give despite how hard the boy was holding it told Ilya it was very hard and very stale.
“Fuck your stupid mum, I’m starving!” A kid slightly shorter than the teenager yelled, reaching for the crusty brick while trying to kick the teen in the groin. “Cunt should die and leave more for the rest of us!!” The group looked to be on the verge of violence.
Ilya approached slowly, her silhouette darkening against the light at her back. “Hello.” She said, making every one of them jump.
“W-Whuh?! Who’re you?” The tallest one stammered before regaining his confidence. “Shove off, this bread is mine!”
“I’m not here for your bread, I’m here to tell you a way out of needing it.” Ilya wanted to be direct with these people; they were the only group in the entire world she felt any sort of kinship with.
“I serve a great being in the woods.” Ilya explained, pointing to herself. “In return for my service I am kept warm and fed and free from sickness.” There was more to be gained than just that: purpose, meaning, satisfaction, but she kept her explanation focused on the physical.
Her forearm extended out, palm upturned. “My Lady, that great being, is offering that same safety and comfort to anyone who will love and serve her.” She searched their expressions one after another for signs of acceptance before something near the ground caught her eye.
A severely beaten little girl sat in the deepest shadows of the alley, soaked by rainwater and curled up against the wall. Ilya’s gut twisted as her memories superimposed themselves on the stranger- visions of her younger self hiding on this exact street.
“That… that goes for you too.” She offered, reaching out to her replica. “A happier life, hope, a place in this world, for the first person who takes my hand.”
The girl’s eyes glanced up at the outstretched arm, the rest of her remaining stony and still. ‘Take it…’ Ilya pleaded internally, but the girl’s lightless gaze fell back down to the cobblestones instead.
She didn’t believe her.
“I don’t need a cultist’s empty promises. All I need… is this bread!” The shorter teenager suddenly snatched the bread out of the taller one’s hand and sprinted away. It took a second for their reaction time to catch up, but the others soon gave chase, scrambling out of the alley after their meal without so much as a glance back.
They didn’t believe her.
Why didn’t they believe her? She was so sure they would jump at any chance offered to them- it’s what she had done, time and time and time again. Were they not so similar after all?
Looking again at the girl on the ground, Ilya noted the emptiness in her eyes. It was a depth of despair Ilya had only brushed up against, a void that only opened its jaws when she finally had trust to be betrayed and a tangible thread of hope to have severed.
She remembered the numbness in that moment, a weight to her flesh as if her soul had loosened its grip on life. If Lady Visnavik had not been there to take claim of her soul, would she have become like this, an empty husk viewing even the possibility of salvation a lie?
Maybe it was too late for this one.
‘But those kids…’
Ilya’s jaw clenched; her head shook. ‘No. Forget about them.’ She couldn’t stand around worrying about the happiness of strangers when her work- the protection of her own happiness -was much more important. If they didn’t take her hand, all she could do is walk away and move on.
So she did, silently stepping back into the blinding light of day and abandoning the girl to her fate.
There would be others.
----------------------------------------
The clouds still had yet to clear as she wandered back into the south side of town, arms crossed over her chest and nose buried in her scarf. Her mood had somewhat worsened.
She had tried making her pitch to a few more groups, but it had turned out the same every time: they either ignored her or told her to get lost or ran away screaming.
It was a demoralizing string of failures that left her once again wandering the muddy streets with both metaphorical and very real rain clouds hanging over her head.
Her Lady was so wonderful, so beautiful, so powerful, so fair. If only the people of this town could look past their distrust, they would see as she did.
Finding a dry bit of ground just off of the main street, Ilya finally crouched down to sit after endless hours of walking. It was a break that she didn’t deserve- what had she actually done today?
Ilya frustratedly shoved her hands into her hair to grip her scalp. She wanted so badly to start strong today, to prove to herself and her Lady that the trust being placed in her wasn’t a mistake.
A stray gust of wind suddenly blew through the street, carrying the smell of damp earth, rain, and freshly cut wood. It whistled past her, causing closed shutters to rattle and hanging signs to swing back and forth noisily.
Ilya tilted her head to look up at the one creaking just above her: a grey wooden sign dominated by a stylized drawing of a dragon, its left hand holding a mug of ale and its right holding a very large haunch of meat. It was similar to her Lady in overall design, crest and all, but whites and light greys replaced the familiar black and purple.
‘Silver dragon…’ Ilya thought, remembering the tavern and the name that archer had called it. The building had a slight overhanging roof, creating the dry space she now sat in.
The door was held open by a block of wood as it was the last she passed by, but no raucous voices or laughter echoed out onto the street as they did back then. It was no wonder she didn’t recognize where she was.
Ilya had lived behind a distillery for an extremely long time, but had never actually gone inside a bar or tavern before. She was honestly a bit curious.
Standing up and brushing the dirt from her behind, Ilya peeked into the doorway. The streets had turned up nothing of worth so far; searching the interior of a quiet business couldn’t waste her time any more than sulking outside would.
Making her way through the entrance hall, Ilya found the tavern actually quite active: many of the tables were filled, and the sounds of clinking glassware and dozens of conversations filled her ears. The volume of each voice was low and the lips they came from made minimal movements, but together they still made a jumble that was hard to eavesdrop on.
A woman in colourful clothes stood on a small stage in the corner of the room, playing some kind of string instrument. The music was slow and peaceful, matching the energy level of the tired looking patrons surrounding her.
Everyone looked tired now that she was taking a look around: dark circles underlining their eyes, identical to the permanent racoon mask on her own face. The only person who seemed to be in a brighter mood was a tall man standing behind the counter, his icy blue eyes inspecting a glass mug in the light before smiling to himself and placing it with the others.
He then did something extremely strange, something she was unprepared for: he turned the smile her way. From across the room he smiled at her, creasing his eyes kindly and beckoning her over to the bar.
“Hello there.” The man greeted as she approached, gesturing to the stool in front of him. His long hair was a very light blonde, like sawdust from those fancy brown trees that rich people’s chairs were made out of. The whole of it was bundled together in a loose ponytail that tucked behind an especially long and pointed ear to fall over his left shoulder. Ilya had never seen a person with such strange ears before.
“You’re a new face- I don’t get many of those around here. Are you from out of town?” He seemed to radiate joy at the prospect.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
A wave of exhaustion washed over Ilya. Was this an orc situation again? Was this yet another kind of person that had always existed in the world? How many different kinds of people were there? How many more would she have to find?
“…I live in the woods outside town.” She eventually answered, climbing up onto a stool meant for individuals far taller than her. She could have mentioned living in Bearwood her whole life, but that might give the impression that she had been a part of the community at any point.
The bartender closed his eyes and nodded along, bringing two fingers up to stroke his chin. “Ah, like in a cabin, that sounds cozy.” It seemed he had still been given the wrong impression.
“No.” Ilya replied flatly. “I sleep on the ground.” She had never and would never have a house- especially now.
His pleased imaginings were cut short at her admission- his expression faltering. “Oh…” A pause. “…By choice?”
“Yes.” Her lady would never fit inside a human dwelling anyway.
A much longer pause, as if her truthful statements had knocked the energy for conversation out of him and sent his mind spinning away.
He eventually gave up on whatever he was internally struggling with, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing his brow with a knuckle. “Let’s just try again… My name is Issnur; I own this bar.” A sigh left his lips, letting the hand fall off his face to hit the side of his leg. “I won’t ask for your story, but I would like to ask for your name.”
“Ilya.” She answered.
The smile was back, much smaller though no less kind. “Well Ilya, you look more put together than any forest hermit I’ve ever seen.”
For all his kindness and handsome features, that was what got a positive reaction out of her. “…thank you.” Ilya murmured honestly. “I try really hard.”
“Don’t mention it.” A glass mug was placed in front of her: its outsides were covered in flat faces and edges like a cut gemstone and the way the low light of the bar shimmered through it was almost entrancing.
Clear water being poured in from above caused the light to scatter; glancing up she saw the bartender holding a pitcher.
“Where are you from?” She suddenly asked, eyes once more locking in on the side of Issnur’s head as he finished pouring. “Your ears look strange- they’re like knives.”
He winced as if stung by a large insect, placing the jug on the counter as his face scrunched In a cringe. “You don’t mince words, do you?” The long eared man seemed upset, but Ilya didn’t really understand why.
Issnur leaned in, searching her eyes for something, but found only a blank glassy stare.
No hostility, no malice, just a dim shine of curiosity.
“I’m from up north, over the mountains.” He relented, answering with the same friendly face as before. “I moved here a long time ago and haven’t been back since.”
He didn’t need to specify which mountains he was talking about.
Those mountains had been a constant backdrop to every event in her short existence. Their towering snowy peaks would glisten in the morning sun, visible even from her dark alleyway, the cold wind blowing down from their summits whispering promises of freedom.
More than once, when stress and sadness weighed too heavy, Ilya would look up to those mountains and think of just... going. She could escape this place, climb to the very top of the tallest mountain, touch the clouds and see with her own eyes what was on the other side.
She never did of course; her real escape laid in the depths of the forest, not mountain heights.
“As for these things-“ Issnur’s ears suddenly wiggled as if the tips were being pulled around by an invisible string. “I’m an elf, a snow elf to be exact. These are just what our ears look like.”
“Wha- how-?!” Ilya startled, distracted from her memories by the motion before being further distracted by the information he revealed. “Snow elf…” She sounded out, squeezing her eyes shut for a second to focus. “So there’s more kinds?”
“Sure.” He nodded, crossing his arms and leaning against the back of the bar. “The most common kind in this kingdom are the wood elves, but there are other kinds like dark elves or snow elves.”
He looked off to the side, moving his gaze from table to table. “Though I suppose even wood elves are rare, so it’s not too strange you’ve never seen one.”
‘Rare?’ Ilya repeated in her head. How could a person be rare? People weren’t like treasure, they could be found anywhere you looked and could be tossed in the gutter just as easily.
Or so she had always believed, but Issnur certainly knew more about his own people than she did- she had never even heard of elves before she entered his tavern..
Everything she knew was limited to her own experience and the experiences of the few people she had overheard, a tiny bubble that made up only a fraction of what life entailed.
“I have a lot to learn…” She mumbled, staring down blankly at her untouched glass of water.
Lady Visnavik was expecting a full report when she returned home, a report she had yet to fill with even the most basic things.
She needed some source of knowledge, some person or place or group that she could endlessly scavenge for the information she needed. Whatever it was, she needed to find it else she fall short of expectations.
Ilya eyes jumped back up to the barkeep- she had spoken with him for such a short time and yet he had already given her a piece of the puzzle.
“Could… Could you be my teacher?” She asked, hopeful- pleading. “I’m supposed to leave here and learn about this kingdom; you seem to know so much about it a-and-“
“Gonna stop you there.” Issnur interrupted, holding up a hand. “I can’t do that; I have a business to run.”
She mentally kicked herself- of course he would say no. At least Issnur actually gave her a reason, everyone else she had solicited recently just yelled at her or ran away.
Swallowing her disappointment, Ilya went back to staring at the water in her mug.
She wondered how different it would taste from the streams and puddles she had been living on or the black and gooey swamp water that splashed up into her mouth from time to time.
“I can still give you some advice.” Issnur offered, watching the girl wrap her thin pale fingers around the glass mug. “Like how about the local bookshop? There are books on anything you need to know.”
“I can’t read.” Ilya admitted casually in reply, raising the glass of water to her lips. It tasted like snow, crisp and clean; devoid of the dirt or rot she was so used to.
“Oh.” The snow elf’s lips pressed together in a tight line. “Hm.” Again, such a simple unimportant truth made him lock up. The preachers she occasionally listened to often talked about the value of truth and the evil of deceit, but did anyone actually want the truth at all?
She took another sip from her mug. If that was the case, maybe she should learn how to lie.
“Well, if you’re impressed with a backwater barkeep like me.” Issnur began, looking up from the scuff mark he had been staring at. “You could get a whole lot more out of travelling to bigger places and chatting up folks there.”
He pushed off of the bar to stand up straight. “A port town would probably be best: lots of different people coming and going from all over and knowledgeable about different things.”
It was a small addition to what she planned to do anyways, but that small addition narrowed her places to wander from the entire kingdom down to a specific type of town.
“Follow me.” He said, stepping out from behind the bar to walk further into the tavern.
Downing the rest of the water in her glass, Ilya hopped off of the stool to catch up to the much taller man. She had to jog just to match the distance his legs covered between steps, but eventually the two arrived at a large framed picture on the wall.
“This is us.” With his long arms, Issnur could easily point to a spot near the top of the picture. The place he pointed to was a dot surrounded by little sketches of trees that got denser the more left from it you looked. A little ways above the dot was a bunch of very large spiky objects that seemed to tower over the drawings of trees- mountains, she realized.
Which meant…
Looking slightly to the left of the dot, the depiction of the great forest grew denser and denser until at last her eyes arrived on a small picture of a skull.
The dot he pointed to was Bearwood. This was a map of the kingdom.
Ilya looked at the distance between the skull and the dot once more. The long journey from Bearwood to her Lady’s swamp was a tiny blip when compared to the rest of the map.
“It took me all day to walk that blip…” She murmured, disheartened.
Issnur’s hand moved a ways downward, across a thick blue line that was probably a river and stopping on a dot situated right against a big blue blob. “Flavenport is going to be your best bet; it’s the busiest of the lake ports and has an adventurers guild branch to boot.”
“Adventurers love to tell stories.” He said casually, leaning his head in her direction without looking away from the map. “It’s really easy to get most of them to talk your ear off.”
Continuing his directions, the barkeep pointed to a spot just above the river where the background colours changed suddenly instead of slowly blending into each other. “The highlands end in a cliff here, so you have to follow the road down and around to get there.”
Tracing her eyes along the lines connecting Bearwood’s dot to the port town, Ilya reeled back, horrified at the sheer length of the trip.
“It’ll take me weeks to hike that far!” She cried, distraught. Her Lady hadn’t set a deadline for her work, but the thought of so much walking, so much time spent away from home, was genuinely upsetting.
The snow elf beside Ilya stifled a laugh. “You’re not supposed to hike it. You’re supposed to take a cart to this town and then take a boat this way.” He pointed to a dot on the map that was situated right on a river and then followed that river through a smaller blue blob and then across to the large one.
“Oh, good.” She sighed in relief, running a hand through her hair. “I thought I was going to have to beg someone to cast [ Windwalk ] on me or something.” A nervous laugh escaped her mouth.
Issnur’s ear twitched and turned fully towards her, his expression a mixture of bewilderment and mild suspicion. “How do you know about specific aeromancy spells but not about horse travel?”
Ilya shrugged. “A lady who helped me out once was an air wizard,”
“Is that right…” Issnur replied with a strange tone.
After an brief stare down, he turned his head back to the map, gesturing broadly. “Regardless, you have your route and destination now. This as much as I can do.”
“Carts heading out of town are set up in the east districts.” He directed with a final helpful smile. “Take a look around; you might find someone who will give you a lift.”
“Okay.” Ilya said, eyes unfocused, nodding multiple times to herself as she processed. “Okay, I’ll go now.” She took a few steps back from the painting, gaining bounce to her movements with each.
“Thank you mister elf-sir!” She stopped to call over her shoulder before weaving through tables and vanishing from sight.
Issnur watched the human go, his smile dropping as soon as he was sure she wasn’t going to turn around again.
“Air wizard…” He muttered under his breath. Issnur only knew of one female Aeromancer in this town, but she had gone missing recently, along with her entire party. Whispers around the guild said they were last seen with a strange girl.
Issnur looked down at his side, frowning at the spot where the little hermit once stood.
If she was the girl from those rumours; if she was more dangerous than she appeared, at least she would soon be far, far away from his tavern.
----------------------------------------
Stepping out onto the dreary street, Ilya felt far better than before she entered.
The snow elf had given her much: a nice drink, knowledge on new peoples, a specific city to travel to as well as a lead once she got there. She wished he would have agreed to join her, but so far it seemed her streak of recruitment failures would continue.
At least she knew he was here now, and with him owning a business it was unlikely he would leave anytime soon. She could come back and see him if she hit a dead end in Flavenport.
She should probably bring money next time.
Before she left, Ilya had asked her Lady about the subject of money, travelling took a lot of it and she had none. It was the main reason she had never tried to flee this town and start again elsewhere.
“Procure it yourself.” The dragon had replied, almost insulted by the question. “You are a slave, lest we forget. You are paid in continued existence and nothing else.”
Ilya took that to mean steal- that any money she stole was hers to spend on whatever the job required. Though the thought of stealing gold still spiked her anxiety, her last visit to Bearwood proved that she was capable of getting away with it unscathed. Further successes would surely quell her fears.
As she fussed with her thoughts, her feet carried her into the eastern districts of the town. They were far from lively, but the richer half of the town at least held the rumble of voices that indicated life.
From what she had gathered over the years, these districts were newer, built when word of the forest’s plenty started drawing in scores of people who wanted to profit from it.
Grown alongside its wealth, the east side was very different from the west: clean stonework streets instead of muddy cobbles, colourful flowers and paints instead of grey wood and grey brick, bright magical lighting instead of dim candles or darkness. In place of dusty workshops and bunkhouses there were eateries and cafes with finely carved furniture and warm food she couldn’t steal thanks to regularly posted guards.
At least they grew bored of that food quickly enough, Ilya wasn’t sure what she would have done without the sizeable leftovers she found in their trash.
Following the rows of buildings eventually spat her out into an open area similar in size to the market. Piles of crates and barrels sat near the entrance of the square and a few wagons were lined up in a row near the end where the town ended and the road began. Some of the wagons had a fabric covering protecting their contents from the rain, but there was a single much larger wagon that did not, allowing Ilya to see the long planks of ashy grey wood that filled its bed.
Many people rushed about back and forth across the square, taking the crates from the piles and placing them in the covered wagons while two men in fancier clothes stood around pointing.
“That one goes on that wagon- Not you! That’s the right one already -That one’s heading up to Krod, put it over there.” They must have been merchants- the shouting one certainly talked fast enough to be a merchant.
Issnur had said to ask for a lift, but she severely doubted her ability to get anything from Bearwood merchants by asking. If only the market square hadn’t been rained out, she might have been able to bribe her way into an easy ride.
Stepping into a less obvious position in the shadows of a multi floor building, Ilya continued to watch and listen while she scrounged around in her head for a plan. Her first thought was to steal a horse and escape, but shook that idea off when she remembered she didn’t know how to steer or ride one.
The only other possibility she could think of was sneaking aboard a wagon and pretending to be cargo. As long as she wasn’t discovered, she could be carried a great distance with little effort.
The problem with that was finding out which cart was going where; she didn’t want to end up stuck in a town that couldn’t teach her anything useful.
One of the four covered wagons was already ruled out; Krod was apparently ‘up’ and she was going down, leaving three more possibilities. Remaining in the shadows and listening to the merchant’s instructions could rule out more, but the wagons seemed to be filling up quickly and she didn’t want to risk being left behind.
‘So what then- go up and ask?’ She thought to herself, channeling her Lady’s mocking tone.
But then, as she watched the workers run crates, she realized just how different they all appeared. On the east side, labour like this was usually done by adult human men, but many of the workers before her were orc, or women, or young.
An idea sparked to life. Maybe she could just ask.
Sneaking over to the closest pile of crates as to not be noticed by the many people of the square, Ilya examined the wooden containers closely.
Each of the crates were painted on the side with some sort of logo: a bear or direbear on all fours carrying colourful cargo like a pack animal. Peeking up over the side of a large crate to look at the top, Ilya found a paper label stuck to the wood, covered with text she couldn’t read. Moving from crate to crate she found some words were repeated on every label while other words varied.
On one of the smaller boxes in the pile, the label had an eye catching difference stamped into it: a cross shaped symbol with a long curved line below it and a small ring at the top, something she vaguely recognized from the map in Issnur’s bar.
‘I guess I’ll start with this one.’ Lifting the small crate with a quiet noise of exertion, Ilya stepped out from behind the pile to join the flurry of fellow labourers. ‘Hope this works.’
Walking out into the middle of the square, Ilya stopped, looking from wagon to wagon and then down at her crate before looking up at the pair of merchants ahead of her. The one doing the shouting and directing was rather rotund and healthy, his full belly covered by expensive looking clothing and accessories.
He looked like a man who had never known hunger or hardship. As much as she didn’t want to even be near him- partially out of resentment and partially out of fear -this merchant was central to her plan, and so she approached.
“Um, S-Sir?” Ilya spoke when the man continued to look over her head despite the very little distance between them. “Where is this going?”
“Huh?“ He startled, staring down at her with a surprised expression that scrunched and turned disgusted. “We have gutter trash loading up!? Are we really so short staffed today?” The merchant looked to his coworker who only shook his head, pushing his glasses up with a finger and reading the label on her box
“Put it on either of the right wagons.” The glasses man said, marking something down on the parchment. “That one’s going down to Flavenport.”
A surge of satisfaction flooded Ilya’s mind. She had remembered correctly; she picked the right box. Finally, a win.
“Yes sir- right away sir!” She bowed her head, hiding her smile behind a curtain of dark hair.
Jogging over to the fuller and less busy looking wagon of the two, Ilya placed down her heavy burden in its correct spot. Taking a second to look at the crates in front of her, she noted similarities the labels all shared: the symbol she had remembered from the map was one of them, but there was one word repeated on each label that felt long enough to be the destination.
‘Is that how you say that…?’ She thought, lingering for a second on her newly acquired ability to recognize a single written word.
Flavenport.
Quickly glancing around to make sure no one was looking at her, Ilya climbed up onto the wagon’s bed and ducked inside. An hour later, the wagons were gone, leaving behind an empty square, spotlit by a single stray sunbeam.
From the sketches of the author:
image [https://i.imgur.com/8GotMPD.jpg]