Coyotes yipped at Lessat as it rose above the forested hills. The western sky bathed in fire as the sun settled beyond sight. To the east, the sky diamonds began to gleam on their velvet sphere.
She sat in the seat beside the Master, trying not to doze. It had been a long day spent on the road, creaking and jolting through the low hills west and south of Alliria. The woods had crept in over the day as they went further south, Master at the traces. The wagon was the one he kept in back of the shop. Now it was loaded with iron and tools for a job somewhere out in the relative hinterlands of Norwood.
This road was not very well traveled; the ruts bore grass between them and the road itself was rough enough to be uncomfortable to ride along. Their destination was a town whose name the redhead could not remember. The task at hand escaped her too, although the Master knew what he was about. It was not uncommon for him to pack his hammers and go to another place to work on a project that could not otherwise be done in Alliria.
The man in question sat bolt upright, unbothered by the journey, seemingly untouched by the passage of time. He was a big man - a blacksmith, after all - with dark hair to counter her ginger, dark eyes to contrast to her yellow.
"Looks like a camp ahead," her Master rumbled. Mara looked ahead at the glow coming from off the path a way and grinned. The Smith was not as eager, of course; strangers on the road could mean trouble as often as friends.
They rounded the corner in the 'road', coming round a low hill and into sight of the adventurer or villain camped for the night.
She sat in the seat beside the Master, trying not to doze. It had been a long day spent on the road, creaking and jolting through the low hills west and south of Alliria. The woods had crept in over the day as they went further south, Master at the traces. The wagon was the one he kept in back of the shop. Now it was loaded with iron and tools for a job somewhere out in the relative hinterlands of Norwood.
This road was not very well traveled; the ruts bore grass between them and the road itself was rough enough to be uncomfortable to ride along. Their destination was a town whose name the redhead could not remember. The task at hand escaped her too, although the Master knew what he was about. It was not uncommon for him to pack his hammers and go to another place to work on a project that could not otherwise be done in Alliria.
The man in question sat bolt upright, unbothered by the journey, seemingly untouched by the passage of time. He was a big man - a blacksmith, after all - with dark hair to counter her ginger, dark eyes to contrast to her yellow.
"Looks like a camp ahead," her Master rumbled. Mara looked ahead at the glow coming from off the path a way and grinned. The Smith was not as eager, of course; strangers on the road could mean trouble as often as friends.
They rounded the corner in the 'road', coming round a low hill and into sight of the adventurer or villain camped for the night.
