Mahran wasn't a day's journey away.
The lone snowy peak harbouring the bandits was still looming behind, but a large mountain range could vaguely be made out far south.
Approaching the small village, the noise and chatter of daily life became audible, soon before their sources came into view. A hammer smashed against the hot iron heated in the forge as kids played on the road surrounded by rice paddies.
A boy driving a wooden wheel with a stick was the first to mark their approach.
Oh, right… everyone should know each other here. And he didn't even have the faintest clue where his family lived nor how they looked like.
"Xar!" an aunt harvesting the rice fields screamed at the boy. "Get back here!"
The boy gave a clumsy bow to the three and followed the order. Alerted by the shout, the present villagers cleared the road in slight unrest.
"Have you seen my mother?"
The aunt pointed out a direction with her hand.
