The merchant was riding for hours; there was no place to stay. In this part of the wilderness there were no inns for miles. It was late, so the road wasn`t that much busy.

 The last village where he stayed, if you can call it village, was the last on the road to Aerbia. He could fell a chill up his spine, he always had that feeling that something is about to happen. He hoped in was just a false feeling. The horse slowly continued down the road, sensing that something isn`t right.

When they reached the hill, the merchant knew exactly what it was. The remains of camp or a battle, he wasn`t sure…nor did he wanted to know. He turned, mounted his horse and went into the other direction. The Long Road, they call it. It certainly earned that name. Somewhere high above him, on rocky edge, hidden among two sides of the mountain stood an inn, old and freshly repaired, but still it was an inn. He hurried his horse. The inn was large, it had three of four floors, he couldn’t tell. It was getting larger and larger with each passing feet. He dismounted. Two large, but rundown, wooden doors loomed over him, like a giant, as he entered the strangely full inn. The atmosphere was more than welcoming. He found a place to sit. The innkeeper came immediately. Iltilas, the famous merchant in these parts, sat in the corner, smoking his pipe.

"What does the honorable gentleman want?" the innkeeper said in a strange accent.

"Ham and eggs," the merchant answered.

"Will be over in a minute. Are you planning by any chance to stay for the night?"

"It depends on the weather."

"If you decide to stay, we have a room available."

"I’ll remember."

 Iltiras stood up and walked into the night. The moon shinned bright.

 The night was dark, darker than any other night before. Iltiras walked down the lonely path, the darkness didn’t bother him. He was more than curious what will happen on this path in the middle of the night. Stories were told about power-eating demons and faeries that attack travelers around midnight. He wanted to see them for himself, or as he liked to say with eyes unclouded. No one really dared to walk the path alone; no one wanted to because of the trees and their long, dreadful shadows, which fell on them, that looked like men with bony fingers that ended with talons. The leaves in their bases were bloody red in color. His leg stepped on one of the piles that were in his way, he expected a response. There was none. He waited. The wind changed direction. A pile of aspen leaves danced under the moonlight. Suddenly, everything was quiet. A strange light shinned bright in the middle of the road, he stood like a statue. The light became larger. A curvy fairy appeared from the diluted light. She moved a step closer to him. He tried to me, there was no use, and he stood like a statue. Her arms were around him.