Naked iron, tilling into root rot, claws at dry crumbles of sand and dirt beneath the beating sun. Metal paws reach outward into the dry harvest asynchronously. The farmers' rakes overshadow my carriage wheels' squeaking whimpers.
It's a pleasurable union of raw noise.
Nature ends. Civilization begins.
The windmill was, surprisingly, much larger than expectations. It shouldn't have been a surprise, given I wasn't too far from the capital regardless; still, it towered above the laboring farm hands.
It was an unassailable fortress that, despite its towering colossal presence, provided a stark highlight of relieving shade from the sun. More importantly, stops like these were good shelter from the elements as a peddler, even if it's just a small room in a barn.
The mill's front entrance had a gate loosely guarded by a knight posted there. His plate armor gave him the deceiving look of being clunky and heavy. Though, I knew better.
Knights in full armor can run oddly quickly. They don't really need any feather-weight enchantments or customized metallurgy.
They're just... weirdly swift.
The only issue was that his body was encased in metal and leather padding; so, any hope of staying cool in this heat would be futile. Farmer or knight: no position of power is safe from the sun.
Bored yet excited at my presence, the knight came sprinting through the grass like a child in a flowery field. Perhaps he finally had something to do.
"Halt!" He exclaimed, "Please state your business here!"
I thought I'd humor the man; after all, it's not like a peddler traversing across the plains would pass up an opportunity for conversation.
"My name is Yona. I'm a peddler by trade, and I'm on the road to Su-Wen."
"Is that so?" He said, planting the tip of his sword into the grass and leaning into the hilt.
"No," I said, "I'm in the habit of wandering outside the Capital to scare my rich parents into thinking their daughter ran away from home."
We both laughed a short "heh", which died into short pleasantries about the stuff of things that constitute polite conversation.
"Oh, you used to be in the academy?" "Wow, so you were a self-taught swordsman!" "You must be lucky to have a position as a knight." "Ahh, so you're working this post to pay for the debts from the academy." "What? Combat Magic with an emphasis on Cosmic Elements was a waste of coin?"
I offered him a chocolate toad.
"Heh, I remember these. They handed these out for free like mad during orientation. So, you were a part of the academy too."
I hesitated. "I guess you could call it that."
"What made you leave? Or, I guess, why are you peddling now?"
"Why else?" I lied. "Money, just like you are with paying your debts."
"Heh, fair enough." He said. "Well, you can enter. It's a good rest spot. The people here worship a Water Goddess, so I'm obligated to tell you not to step over any small creeks or marshy spots as it's disrespectful. But, seeing how we're in a drought, that shouldn't be a problem."
"A Water Goddess?"
"Yeah," he said sadly. "There was supposed to be a celebration in her honor too. There's one every year. I guess with this harvest, they just couldn't afford it."
I pull out another chocolate toad for myself.
"Well," I said, "let's hope that next year is a better one."
I connect my chocolate toad to the one melting in his metal fingers.
"To the Water Goddess."
It's not quite like clinking wine glasses together, but it sufficed.
"To the Water Goddess." He affirmed. I popped the toad in my mouth, and the knight slipped it awkwardly beneath his helm before waving me forward into the entrance of the windmill.
There's always something about making stops. Stops in the middle of a journey. Stops in the middle of the day.
They're all the same.
Perhaps it's a moment of clarity one has when they take a minute to pet a cat that stares back at them. It's a cat. You're busy. Yet, you take the time to stop for a second and pause whatsoever occupied your attention to look at this cat, then walk to it. It circles you a little and rubs its body on your leg. It rubs its face on your hands. Fur. Purring. For a moment, life begins to breathe once more. For a little bit, just a little, life takes time to stop. You can stop. Just stop. Stop and reflect on the simple somethings that make life, well, life.
***
We've all felt it.
I felt it.
It was the feeling that something wasn't right. No, something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
I've yet to open the doors. Tall, wooden oak beams stood in front of me at the entrance of the windmill. Its grains were old and ran vertical along from top to bottom, with crevices showing their wear and age.
Behind the doors, voices. One angry. One desperate. One tired.
One also angry.
Another, angry. One crying.
Many, perhaps, silent people listening to all the other tired, desperate, crying, anger; and waiting for it all to end.
And I was behind those doors. I stood behind it, whilst an ensemble of people bickered about...
*muffled noises* "Respect..."
*muffled noises* "Culture!" *muffled noises*
*muffled noises* "...don't care!"
*muffled noises* "ungrateful" *muffled noises*
"Our Goddess never would have wanted this..." *muffled noises*
The bickering didn't seem to end.
Though, if I stood here awkwardly outside the door any longer, I'd only make things worse. If I wanted a place to stay, I knew I had to walk in and interrupt this conversation.
I inhaled through my nose. I exhaled through my lungs. It would be weird, I knew it.
And weird it was.
I held onto the brass door handles and pushed, opening the doors and shining the light from outdoors into the main room inside.
"And what manner of stranger are you to step foot here?"
The voice came from the direction of 2 men, one aged like wine and the other like milk. The former had smooth white of medium length reaching down to frame his heart shaped face. The latter had, well, no hair to frame his portly and angry face. They were accompanied by two women.
One was a girl dressed in mourning. The layers of black fabric gave her a large frame; but it was clear she had a thin structure beneath the dress. Her skin was smoothly pale and appeared to have the color drained from her face. The bone structure of her eyebrows narrowed her eyes such that, even in mourning, she had a severe look on her face.
The other girl was an… unusual sight.
For one, her hair. She had gentle, pink hair that reached down to her butt. There were slight waves to it, which introduced an angular composition to her soft features. She was pale except, unlike her friend, she was not drained of all color and life in her face. Far from it. She wielded a look of wrath and ferocity that was aimed at the two men but were now focused on me.
Perhaps most surprising were her emerald eyes. Though she was farthest from me, her green eyes stared poisonous daggers right past the group and through me. It was a venomous stare which contradicted her holy attire. She was a snake.
"Umm…" I started. But, before I could begin with the words I rehearsed from my head, the pink-haired girl cut through the silence.
"Nonsense." She said. "This is no stranger. He was compelled here. Here to save us from the wrath of the water goddess."
All three individuals were silent.
"You are here." She continued. "You know not why you are, but you are here. You think you know where you're going, why you're going, but you don't."
"Enough of this…" interrupted the portly man.
"Well," she continued, "Am I wrong?"