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Rays of sun shone brilliantly through the thick green canopy. A quiet spot amid a copse of trees, surrounded like an island by a sea of grass, a great oak towering above all else in the center. On such a warm summer day the shade was cool and inviting, while nearby a stream whispered secrets that only nature knew. But for all it's beauty, and all it's allure, the copse was empty this day. Not man, nor bird, bee, nor squirrel could be found wandering amongst the shade of the towering oak...
Barinon marched forward doggedly. His feet ached with each step, his knees protested further, his hips felt as if they were grinding down to meal, but he pushed on. No more than every ten steps he adjusted the weight of his heavy pack across his shoulder. A long days ride.. Better they had said a weeks march, the bastards. He thought sourly. The better part of three days gone, his rations were down to hard bread and a few bits of dried beef as tough as leather. A situation his stomach protested vehemently.
Difficult terrain and foul weather the two days before had made his progress through the Snakewood from Eshpurta a dismal crawl. The calm wind and smiling sun that had woken him on the third day had lifted his spirits, but that elation was quickly fading as he realized just how much more lay ahead. The woods and ravines were behind him now, and ahead lay miles of rolling plains before he arrived at the next village to replenish his supplies.
The sea of grass swayed hypnotically on either side of his little trail. A road they had called it, but it was little more than an uneven rut winding aimlessly through the seemingly endless plains. The weeds and grass cut back no more then two feet on either side, no wagon or caravan could hope use this trail across the Greenfields. Good then that he had decided to walk.
Coming over a slight rise Barinon peered out across the plains. The sight struck him oddly. It seemed so picturesque and for a brief moment he could almost envision himself living in such a place. A small cottage, a wife, a child. Why torture yourself, fool. He chastised himself, shaking his head free of the thought as he continued to push forward. That is not my lot...
Plodding forward steadily, he watched a copse of trees and it's grand oak grow before his eyes. At first a shadow in the distance, and now a shelter of great green giants marching ever nearer. It was not yet dusk, but with only a few hours of light left he veered off-course to take shelter from the oppressive rays of the sun and make camp for the night.
After but a few steps into the thick trees, the air seemed to cool dramatically and tasted sweet with earth and flower. A soft breeze wound through the trees, rustling the leaves to play a sweet whispering song that Barinon found profoundly relaxing. Finally, I am due a good bit of rest, and a spot of luck. He thought, smiling to himself, as he dropped his pack and crumpled with it to the soft earth with a grunt.
