The cool morning air made Flint shiver. His leather jacket was still dripping from the storm that had occurred. His jacket was hooded and peaked at the top. It was thick but not so that it hindered him from sprinting. It was buttoned all way up to his neck. A steel shoulder plate gave protection to his left shoulder.
"Blast this weather" Flint huffed his quiver of arrows resting on his back. He held a bow in his right hand. The bow was made of a dark wood. A single curve bending throughout it. The string was of high quality. Many archers sought after a bow like Flint's. It took him many of years to get his bow perfect. But he always had believed that he could do better. Flint sat on the edge of the dirt path. His bow lay next to him. His hood cover all but his mouth and the tip of his nose. Flint sighed he had been walking for hours now and his legs ached with pain. It was like they were yelling at him to sit down. Even now as he was they were unsatisfied. Flint took an arrow from his quiver. The shaft was made of flexible wood and the tip had a arrowhead carved from black obsidian. The feathers were perfect goose feathers. Flint put the arrow back amongst it's identical brothers and sisters. He got off the ground and continued on down the path. He passed a small homestead with a farmer, that had obviously gotten an early star to the day, tending to his field. Flint waved to the man as he passed by.
"Hello Stranger" farmer said.
"Hello farmer, might I ask were Yankpom is?" Flint replied.
"About an hours walk down the road" the farmer replied. Flint thanked him and quickly head off to the town of Yankpom.
YOU ARE READING
The Traveller
FantasyHis name is Flint. He recalls having no name. The world he lives in is covered in anguish, war and most of all blood. He travels across these blood covered lands in search of his family.
