Fall 10th, 513 A.V.
As the caravan of smiths continued south, the horizon grew darker and darker, as if someone had run a gray line between the land and the sky with a charcoal pencil. Ireth didn't notice it too much at first, being too concerned with the aching of her back and the shallowness of her breathing. The trees around her didn't help either, they only hid the horizon and most of the sky from her view.
But that depressing gray line grew and grew with each passing day, either getting closer to Ireth or the caravan was getting closer to it. One of the covered wagons of the caravan belonged to an old tailor whom Ireth had become acquainted with on their journey. He was quite the elderly fellow, with a hunched back and spindly fingers from his work. But his eyes were bright, his laugh was infectious, and he was a lively spout of information, information that Ireth practically soaked up like a good cloth.
And so Ireth had taken to walking alongside his wagon, just behind the pair of lumbering tan oxen that pulled the man's belongings along. And though she had to walk out of the way of the beasts, Ireth also made sure to walk close enough were the man sat so that the elder didn't need to shout or strain his voice to make himself heard. And in return for her welcome company, the tailor let Ireth rest at his fire come nighttime and to ride upon the wagon's seat every once in awhile when he felt he needed to stretch his old bones.
The man was much more learned about the world outside of Ravok than Ireth, having been a trader between Nyka and Ravok for many years. Ireth had only left her city twice before, both when she was very young and in the company of her brothers and her father. The tailor knew lots about many things, from the flora about them to the songs of the birds to where to find water and so forth.
One day, Ireth had been watching that suspicious gray line every time there was a break in the treeline. It made her almost uncomfortable. So she went to the old tailor.
"Friend? Do you see that odd gray line on the horizon? Oh just a moment, you can see it when the tree cover breaks.... There! What is it?"
The old man leaned forward and squinted, straining his eyes. There was a long moment of silence before he sighed and nudged his cattle on again. "My dear lass, these worn eyes of mine don't see that far anymore." Ireth's face fell. "But I will tell you one thing. I smell rain."
Ireth wrinkled her nose. "Rain?" Her city didn't get much rain. All the water they ever needed they drew from the lake, where it was clean and pure. The little rain that they did get came down soft, a mere drizzle that fell on the walls of the city and dripped mud into the streets. But even then, the clouds were light and only leaked a little. The clouds before Ireth were dark as metal, and they appeared angry and boisterous.
The old man let out a chuckle. "Ah yes, rain. But not the soft and warm rain that Rhysol washes our city with. Oh no, not that at all. This rain is strong, falling hard and fast. Sometimes it feels as if you are being pelted with pebbles. And it soaks all of your things, unless you have a good cloak. Even then it will run down your arms and get in your boots. But unlike our city, the rest of Sylira needs the rain to make their plants grow. They have a rainy season, when the rains come down and water the dry earth. You just happen to be going to Nyka during their rainy season."
Ireth murmured in thought when the wagon leader called for a halt for the night.
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