Dusty roads and dusty clouds lead a path on to colder, greener lands. “The last leg, Langwen!” The blonde mare’s tired legs drove on along the once grand road, through strange lands where no hearth nor lamp were lit anymore. The cold was driven from the land swiftly by a harsh sun, its rays unburdened in their journey to the barren ground where no plants would grow. The thud of hooves barely travelled, as Eceric knew, in lonely lands anything but kind ears might hear the thunder of a fast gallop, and so he and Langwen went slowly beside the road, humble in their journey together.
The day went as slowly as the sun travelled across the sky, camp was made, and the dry rations endured only by travellers was the horseman’s feast. The dark came along, thick and fast once the sun had gone to bed, somewhere behind distant mountains. Again the morning came, another day of slow travel in the lonely lands, and night came again.
The next morning’s sun brought with it a smile upon Eceric’s parched lips, the knowledge that the greener pastures and farms of Bree-land lay not far away, and with it better cheer than that he found in the strange and lonely lands which guarded it with its nothingness. Dusty roads turned to laid stone, and the scenery became littered with wind stirred trees. Leaves instead of sand drifted through the air, scatterings of reds and golds, and green grass covered the ground. The autumn held domain here, cold air filled Eceric’s lungs like a sigh of relief as he brought Langwen to a gallop, he had beaten the winter.
