Morning came grey and cold over the Silver River Hub.
Arthur stood at the eastern gate, reviewing convoy schedules. The air carried a sharp edge it hadn't held yesterday.
Then the first flakes fell.
Small at first. Barely visible. Dusting the shoulders of workers walking past.
Arthur watched them land on the stone road and disappear.
By noon, the snow fell steadily.
White powder covered the gravel surface. It collected in wagon tracks. It muffled the sound of hooves and wheels.
Merchants paused in their work to watch.
"First snow," a grain trader said, smiling. "Late this year."
His companion nodded. "Good sign. Mild winter."
Arthur said nothing. He simply watched the road.
---
An hour later, a convoy attempted the first hill east of the hub.
The lead wagon reached the slope and kept climbing. Then its wheels spun. The driver cracked his whip. The horses strained.
The wagon stopped moving forward.
Then it began sliding backward.
