WheatBaron

You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.” Laurence's eyes are filled with surprise as he duck and steps into the tattered tent. He was absolutely unsure of why he was doing this, for usually his curiosity was overshadowed by his fear of adventure, or better yet his fear of finding out something new. "I.. I come from a small farm far away from here. I have been traveling for days. Weeks. Maybe it has been months I..-- I do not know anymore." He decides to accept her invitation, and eases himself on the cushion. "Perhaps you knew my father, Thomas? He grew wheat, like his dad before him. I wonder if his dad did the same thing too.." Laurence's eyes stare off into one of the lit candles. His mind starts to dwell on times long past. It takes a few minutes for Laurence to snap out of it. He thought of how he'd never met his mother, who'd been taken prisoner by raiders when he was just a boy. He thought of the sadness that filled his father's eyes day after day. Laurence thought to himself, "Maybe father made me leave the farm so I would not be sad with him anymore?" He thought of all the times he traded wishbones with his best friend, Morgan. Hopefully she was doing well. She was promised in marriage to another boy, Walther, who lived in the next village. "It doesn't matter anymore," he said to himself before looking back to the old crone. Goosebumps perked up through his thin skin, propping his hair up like poles under a tent. He couldn't help but think that perhaps the old crone could hear his thoughts.