A swath of rain-spent clouds occludes the stars and these clouds glow below a high full moon. It is night, but Yunil’s feet find the good paths despite.
Rain and mist dampened the plains for several days now. Good for farmers, bad for travelers, worse for thieves. While the soaked grasses bent quietly under Yunil’s cautious steps granting him unhearable passage, the damp or even muddy earth writes the indelible line of his course like a cartographer’s pen joining one city to another—joining predator to prey. His boots are damp. He moves quickly.
The darkness gives him time to consider his situation because it minimizes distractions. He focuses his attention on the black and less black horizon or on the silhouette of a copse of trees. These guide his body allowing his mind to figure things out—if he could only stop thinking how miserable and cold he’ll be in the morning.