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canadian
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The Traveler, weary from his journey that day, sat beneath one of the few trees in the West Commons. A more poetic heart might find beauty in the gathering twilight, that moment between day and night when the sky stubbornly held on to the brilliant reds and oranges, with the moon showing its face on the other horizon. The Traveler did not have a poetic heart. Instead, jaded eyes carefully watched the shadows making sure that they were only due to uneven ground. These could be dangerous hills. Evil lurked here - how could it not with the deteriorating home of the undead so near? The wind seemed to carry the cries of the wretched to his ears, but their dark call would go unanswered until the morning, when he intended to relieve the living of their awful presence. So the Traveler sat without a fire and his lightstone carefully hidden in his backpack. A fire might keep away the bears, but it would serve as a beacon to the whole area. He could do without the attention. He was a man who did not understand the need for simple "comfort." He had trained himself to sleep while in a sitting position and in armor, his sword lying within reach like a faithful companion. This made him prepared for any fight. It also classified him as paranoid to many of the people who knew him well. He preferred to think of himself as prepared. In his mind he kept an ever-growing list of dangers and he kept running over that list perpetually so he would not be caught unaware.
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Paper Information
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Title: canadian
Words: 1341
Rating: None
Pages: 5.4
submitted by: eeeeeeeee
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