The boy woke stiff and cold, dew clinging to his hair. Morning light filtered through the canopy, pale and weak. His stomach twisted with emptiness, but he pushed himself upright and picked up his spear. Today, he told himself. Today, he would find something.
The forest thinned the farther he wandered, trees giving way to scrubland and sparse grasses. By noon, his legs ached and his feet throbbed with every step, but ahead lay something different—flattened earth, ruts pressed deep into the dirt. A road. A real road.
He crouched low, cautious. Roads meant people. People could mean food… or danger. He watched for a long time, hiding in a bush as the wind stirred dry leaves.
The first sound came faintly—metal jingling, wheels creaking. He tensed, knuckles whitening on his spear. A wagon rolled into view, its wooden sides painted red, though chipped from years of travel. Two horses pulled it, their manes tangled. Atop the driver's bench sat a plump man with a wide-brimmed hat, humming to himself.
The boy's heartbeat quickened. He stepped out, bare feet silent on the road.
The horses snorted, ears flicking back. The driver tugged the reins, squinting at the thin figure before him. "What in the Saints' names—?"
The boy didn't speak. He stood there, eyes hollow, clothes torn and smeared with soot and dried blood. The driver's face softened, caution edging into pity.
"Oi, lad," the man called gently, "you look like you've been chewed up and spat out. Where's your folks?"
The boy's voice cracked. "Gone."
The driver shifted uncomfortably. He rummaged in a sack and pulled out a rough heel of bread. "Here," he said, tossing it lightly. "You're skin and bones."
The boy caught it, fingers trembling. He devoured it in three bites, barely chewing. The driver watched, his brow furrowed. "Listen, there's a town three days down this road. Follow it straight. Folks there might help you."
The boy licked crumbs from his hands, eyes downcast. He gave no thanks, only stepped aside to let the wagon pass.
As the wagon rumbled away, the driver called back, "Don't you go back in those woods, you hear? Nothing but death in there!"
The boy didn't answer. He stared down the road, bread still rough in his belly, and started walking.