“Something’s been moving around in the bushes.”

“Farrin, if you want to stop one more time I’m going on without you.”

“No, honest, something’s been following us for a while, by the road.”

“They’re just rabbits. Rabbits. Maybe a raccoon.”

“This isn’t just a rodent, Toledo, it’s big, s—”

“There aren’t wolves or coyotes in these woods. The scariest thing you’ll find is a bird giving you the funny eye, and trust me, you deserve it.”

“Stop for a second, just for a second, and we’ll move on.”

The two horse riders stopped, the first turning to see between the wagons strapped to each of their mounts, the second rubbing his face and looking up to the treetops.

“Did you hear that? Something touched the wagon, I’m begging you, something isn’t right—”

“A damn branch fell from a tree, you better cut it out now, we have work ahead of us and if you don’t keep your mouth shut the sun’s going to rise before we reach the village.” The second rider opened his mouth to say more, but shut it and rode on. The first rider turned around again, watching the wooden box push past him, and he jumped forward himself before letting the other rider move too far, driving his foot into his horse’s side and being met with a resistant grunt.

“Hear anything from the village lately?” the first rider asked.

“No. Not surprising though, place’s small, they don’t have anyone worth writing to.”

“You think Gloss made it to these parts?”

The second rider laughed. “Yes, and we’ll get there and find everybody’s already his slave, and then they’ll nab us too! Maybe one of them’s been following us the whole time, and you were right all along!” The second rider laughed again when the first turned his head to check. “To be honest, Farrin, I wouldn’t mind seeing one of them. Change of pace. Hell, maybe we should just turn ourselves in. The city’s going dry, and I heard they’ve got their hands in some big pots of gold.”

“I don’t think it would be good to associate with those kinds of people. I don’t want to be robbed and tortured.” The second rider chuckled and shook his head. “The king’s good, they’re talking nonsense anyway,” the first rider continued.

The second raised an eyebrow. “King’s about as wise as this horse. Last time he said something that made sense this horse could do the same thing.”

“Well, things are okay here. We’re not broke. Things are safe.”

“Ah, yes, Gloss the friendly trading partner, we get along fine.”

“You said we were safe, Toledo.” The second rider rolled his eyes.

“Look, things are good enough here. And no, Gloss isn’t very friendly. To be honest, I don’t know what, or who, keeps things and the king running, but it happens. Still. Gloss made a point, and it stuck.”

The first rider turned again. The second had his eyes fixed to the road, his shoulders slumped, and a faint frown on his lips. His eyes were drooping.

Unbeknownst to him, the first rider’s wagon was unlocked. As the cart rumbled on, the door had creaked open, and two apples bounced out of it and rolled into the dirt. They took no notice of it. Soon enough, they had left the spot far behind. And when they did, Sartore emerged from the bushes, brushing away the bramble and thorns that scratched at his arms, and grabbed the apples off the dirt road, carrying them to a river a short distance from the path.

After maneuvering past an obstacle course of roots and branches, he found a place to sit at the water’s edge. Through the canopy, the moon shone like many spotlights on the earth, granting silver illumination to stretches of moss and grass. Where the light glinted against the water it seemed like white silk, but the rest was transparent. The stones under the water looked like python flesh.

Sartore washed the apples. He held one up to the partially obscured white sphere in the sky, saw it through a drop of water that hung on the apple’s surface; it reminded him, in some way, of the raging sunset he had seen a night ago. But the colors were different. The thought started an itch in his chest that, for now, was easy to suppress.

Sartore took a bite, savoring the sound of his teeth cracking the apple’s flesh. Some small animals scurried away, jumping from branch to branch or hurrying against the dirt floor. The noise didn’t concern him; instead, he closed his eyes and ate, slowly.

Sartore knew he was hungry. He felt like the space in his chest was getting sucked out of him or devoured. But it didn’t bother him much.

He dropped both cores into the grass, dipped his hands in the water and splashed some in his face. His cheeks felt warm. Sartore walked back to the path, listened for anymore travellers, and hearing none, continued down the path.

The trail continued flat between the walls of vegetation. Most animals kept their distance, but a few brave ones crossed his path. A rabbit with a light gray coat sprang to him from a bush, and Sartore kicked it away. A raccoon approached him tentatively, and Sartore brained it with a rock, leaving its carcass in the middle of the road. Despite their absence, though, the animals kept his company. Owls perched on tree branches and crickets hidden in the grass kept the night alive.

The further Sartore walked, the more he wanted to lie down in the dirt and close his eyes. But sleep seemed far away. The bend of a root was the wrong place to get some rest. The city came first, Sartore thought.

The dirt road had an end. It was at the side of a brick-paved street, where other other similar roads ended like ribs connecting to the spine. The moon shone through a small part in the trees.

Sartore heard horse hooves and wagons. He hid behind a thick tree trunk, poking his head out to watch. A small armada of people emerged, many drawn from different paths, and travelling forward. Some had large carriages strapped to their horses, the wheels creaking noisily under the pressure; some had mules to carry their luggage. More still carried their belongings on their backs, and a select few, mostly children, but a few vagrants, carried nothing. A few conversations sparked up in the bramble, but burned out to ash. With their coming, the chirp of the crickets that had carried him forward had disappeared, and left for him that eerie silence.

Sartore returned to the road when the travellers had long passed, and the sound of them no longer reached him. He skittered to the corners whenever any others passed, often in long stretches as long chains of people moved, but there were enough pockets of space to keep him moving.

The sun began to rise. There was a dull blue tint to the sky, and soon to the earth. Sartore could see the many colors beginning to stretch out above him. A deep itch settled in his heart; he needed to see it. He dashed forward, following the winds of the street until he could see the city on the horizon.

And it was beautiful. There, shining from behind the buildings, came a golden glow that cast the structures in the same light. Whatever rough edges should have been there were gone. It came with the small sound of a choir, although Sartore wasn’t sure if that part was just in his head.

Sartore knew he’d chosen right. And towards the light he went.