The road west  curved like a lazy river, the dirt packed from years of carts and boots pressing it into shape. It had rained the night before, leaving a faint dampness in the air, but the sun was already climbing, drawing steam from the soil in thin, ghost like wisps.

Ashen walked with his cloak half open, the breeze catching its edge. He had been told the next real settlement was a day’s walk away, but there were scattered farmsteads between here and there. For once in a long time he wasn't really in such a rush. 

A breath of fresh air

The sound of a wheel creaking drew his attention. Up ahead, an ox cart rattled along, a heavy looking man sitting on the driver’s bench. The man noticed him and slowed.

"Need a lift?" the driver called, his voice carrying over the quiet fields.

Ashen stepped closer. "Depends on where you’re headed."

"bugger West. About half a day. Got apples to deliver." The man patted the sacks behind him.

Ashen climbed aboard, the cart shifting under his weight. "That’ll do. I am in your care."

The road rolled on under the ox’s steady plod. They passed low stone walls, fields of pale green shoots, and a small shrine half hidden by vines. Ashen glanced at it, catching the faint outline of a carved figure in the stone.

"Local deity?" he asked.

The driver shrugged. "Some say it’s the Harvest Watcher. Others say it’s just an old statue no one remembers. Doesn’t matter much, we still leave bread there at midsummer."

Ashen didn’t press. The driver’s tone suggested it was more tradition than faith.

For a while, they rode in comfortable silence, broken only by the ox’s hooves and the squeak of the cart. Then the driver spoke again, a little quieter this time.

"Strange thing happened two nights ago. Folks in the next village saw lights in the sky — green and white, twisting like smoke. Not like lightning. Not like anything they’d seen before."

Ashen turned to look at him. "And?"

"And the next morning, one of the wells was dry. Just… gone. Not drained. Gone. You look down and it’s nothing but black."

"Did anyone go down to check?"

The driver gave a humorless laugh. .  "Not a chance. Some say it’s cursed now. Others say it’s the work of one of them wandering spirits. Me? I just think the world’s getting stranger by the day. it's a shithole out there you know"

Ashen leaned back against the sacks of apples, dismissing  the detail away. Small stories like these had a habit of growing into bigger truths.

By midday, they reached a small hamlet where the road widened. The driver pulled to a stop, pointing toward a weathered building with a sign that had nearly faded away.

"That’s the tavern. You’ll find food there. I’ve got to make my delivery."

Ashen thanked him and stepped down. The tavern smelled faintly of yeast and wood smoke. Inside, a handful of locals sat at mismatched tables. A woman behind the counter eyed him with mild suspicion before asking what he wanted.

"Stew and bread. Whatever’s fresh."

She nodded and went to fetch it. Ashen chose a seat near the corner, where he could watch the room. The stew came steaming, with thick slices of bread still warm from the oven. He ate slowly, letting the warmth settle in his stomach.

Halfway through his meal, two men entered — both dusty from travel, one carrying a rolled-up map under his arm. They spoke in low voices at the counter before taking a seat across from him without asking.

"You’re headed west," the man with the map said. It wasn’t a question.

Ashen set down his spoon. "I might be."

"Then you should know the main road’s not as safe as it used to be. Bandits have been working the stretch past Red Hollow. They don’t take much, but they’re bold enough to stop even guarded caravans."

Ashen studied them. "And you’re telling me this because…?"

The second man leaned in. "Because we’re heading that way ourselves. Could use another sword in case trouble comes."

Ashen thought for a moment. "I travel alone. But I’ll keep your warning in mind."

They didn’t push. After finishing his meal, he left the tavern, the sun now dipping toward the horizon. The air had cooled, carrying the faint scent of wet grass.

West still lay ahead, but now it was colored with the possibility of trouble — and the memory of lights in the sky, twisting like smoke over a dry well.

Ashen pulled his cloak tighter and kept walking.