The gray dirt of this road had been carved out of the turf one footstep, one hoof print, one turn of a wheel at a time, until it attained a life of its own amid the canvas of earth and sky, and the trees that bound each to the other.

Paved by the history of the men and beasts that had walked it for centuries, collecting the drama of a thousand journeys, it hid its stories in its gentle rises and low dips.

For long years, the peace of this land had been a rare thing, and like all rare things, those elements of its making guarded it with jealousy.

He wore the coat as a matter of convenience, finding this easier than carrying it in the short period of time before the summer day grew too warm.

Sweat had already begun to chill his forehead in the cool air.

An overnight train had brought him to the town he sought, but no buses came this far into the countryside.

The best he had been able to manage were vague directions from a sleepy shopkeeper, just opening for the day:

So he walked.

A couple of miles out of town, he found himself lost in a maze of dirt roads, with trees big and small flanking crossroads and side roads and rutted paths that crisscrossed the main road.

Still, he was determined to keep at it until he found someone who could get him oriented again, and if night fell, he’d settle under a good tree.

He had long since learned how to sleep on the ground.

He knew hunger well and could push it down.

The pain, however, mattered more.