The village's main path was not paved like those in the big cities. It was a hard, dried trail of packed soil, the caravan wheels kicking up dust as they approached.
Children ran ahead with bright, happy smiles, finally free from the boredom of the long journey.
Even though this wasn't their final destination, they would remain here for a few days. It wasn't because Little Town was particularly special; it was simply the last safe resting place before the road ahead became perilous, wild, and far less forgiving.
This was a convenient resting place, a spot where they could meet other traveling merchants, trade goods, gather information on the routes ahead, and maybe share a tale or two.
Perhaps that's why, in recent years, Little Town had grown.
A young man dressed in ragged, patched-up clothes sat silently on the edge of a wagon, his face obscured by a faded scarf wrapped low around his eyes and nose.
