The Chronicles of Infel

A bright sun rose over rolling green hills. The air bit sharp and cool. Ash and cedar trees rustled from the touch of autumn wind, sending orange and yellow leaves sailing across glades of grass and great grey slabs of stone. The wagon rolled on down a muddy trail winding through the country next to a small singing brook. Salmaer tugged on the reigns, humming merrily to no one in particular. Noel slumped in the passenger’s seat, fast asleep.

Croix grumbled against the wheat bundles in the back of the cart.