The Unending Epic Written to Appease a Friend, Tell a Tale, an...

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          They decide to head toward the nearest village, the one directly to the south. A part of Asher's mind is occupied with the dark hills to the east, wondering if they have any caves, any hidden veins of gold or copper. The sense of adventure excites him, and so he pushes the thoughts away. Now is not the time to dwell on boyish fantasies, he thinks. He checks their bag. Some carrots and apples, a scrap of bread, a few uncooked petalfruits, and some small pieces of meat are all that remain. It will feed them tonight, and maybe tomorrow morning. He looks at the village ahead, though now all that can be seen of it are several plumes of smoke rising from just over the horizon. Is it far enough? Could he and May settle here, or would it be wiser to aim farther south, find a city with enough people that he wouldn't have to worry about being recognized after a time. Perhaps the city where he had been born, where his father had grown up. Malark. Though his grandparents were dead, perhaps there were other people in the city who knew his father. Asher shakes his head. Even if his father still had friends in Malark, they wouldn't know him. Still...he frowns at looks at the chimney smoke again. He counts three plumes. Still, a city would likelier be a better support for them than a small village.

          They walk all the rest of the day. By the time the sun is setting, Asher's feet ache. He wonders how they'll make it to Malark if after two days he's sore and tired. Glancing at May's bare feet, he sees no sign in her of the pain he feels; he supposes that running about the forest has toughened up her soles like leather. The thought makes him jealous. At the end of the day, though, the town again comes into view as they draw near it.

          It is the silence that first alerts Asher, followed by the realization that they have seen no sign of anyone in the road, or the fields. A warm wind blows past them, carrying the heavy scent of smoke. He stops, then, making out at last what distance had obscured.

          Three plumes of smoke continue to rise, but not from chimneys. The town is a ruin: blackened, smoldering, and torn down. May gasps. Asher drops the sack. "Who did this?" he whispers.