Soren stood there, staring in shock at the scene before him.
The wagon in which he had spent the entire night, supposedly in motion, seemed to have arrived there of its own accord, without anyone controlling it.
"Impossible..." he murmured, gazing at the wagon. He gripped the stone in his hand tighter and looked around.
The idea was absurd, but he couldn't find another explanation.
He felt his stomach drop, and cautiously taking a few steps back, he reassessed the wagon.
But no matter how he looked at it, the wagon appeared utterly ordinary.
From the outside, it looked even older.
In the space where a driver should have been sitting at the front of the wagon, everything was empty.
He tried to convince himself that the driver might have fled in the middle of the night, erasing any footprints to avoid being incriminated in a possible kidnapping.
That made some sense… right?
But what had pulled the wagon? Horses?
Then where did their footprints go?
Soren forced himself to believe this, but the discomfort wouldn't leave him.
He slowly backed away from the wagon, his entire body on high alert.
'What is happening here?' From a peaceful night in his room to waking up in the middle of nowhere in a wagon that no one was controlling.
Casting one last glance at the wagon, he decided he couldn't stay there.
With that in mind, Soren looked down the road ahead until something caught his attention.
"Fog...?"
Partially hidden by the mist, the silhouette of buildings was unmistakable.
From where he stood, he could see a village emerging, its irregular structures and narrow towers dotting the landscape.
The houses, with pointed roofs and facades framed by wooden beams, were huddled together as if seeking to protect one another.
A low stone wall surrounded the area, with vines and moss growing through the cracks.
The thick fog concealed the nearby details, but he could make out the main entrance — a simple wooden gate reinforced, slightly ajar, revealing the dirt path leading up to the first houses.
Soren's heart raced at the sight.
There he would find company, food, and he could orient himself and perhaps even call the police.
With this in mind, he began to walk with firm, decisive steps toward the village entrance.
After several minutes, his feet were already caked in mud, but he couldn't care less. When he finally reached the entrance, he noticed that the fog was thinner here.
His gaze wandered curiously around the area and landed on an elderly man walking slowly, carrying a hoe resting on his shoulder.
He appeared to be leaving through the gate and exiting the village.
The old man was thin and hunched, dressed in a worn, coarse linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, secured by a leather belt. His trousers, made of thick fabric, were a faded gray, full of poorly stitched patches and dark stains.
He wore muddy boots, and on his head was a straw hat that partially concealed his face, revealing only small, suspicious eyes.
His wrinkled hands gripped the hoe's handle firmly, and a sparse black beard covered his chin.
When Soren noticed him, the old man had also seen him and was sizing him up with equal interest.
He looked Soren up and down, his narrow, suspicious eyes analyzing every detail of his appearance.
It was evident that he stood out — his clothes were strange. He was still wearing his wrinkled blue pajamas from the night before, and his bare, dirty feet contrasted sharply with his overall appearance.
The old man frowned, his expression suggesting he was assessing whether Soren was a threat or merely an oddity.
"Who are you, and why are you lurking near the village?"
He took a step back, gripping the hoe more tightly.
Hearing the old man's question, Soren opened his mouth to respond, but the words came out haltingly, confused.
"I… I don't know where I am." He pointed to the wagon in the distance. "I came from that wagon over there… I spent the whole night in it, but… there was no one… I… I just… woke up here."
The old man narrowed his eyes, frowning suspiciously.
He cast a glance in the direction Soren pointed, but his face hardened even further. "There?" he grumbled, wrinkling his nose. "I don't see anything there."
Soren blinked, dazed.
He turned to look again at where he had left the wagon, and for a moment, he doubted his own eyes.
The wagon was still there, and even from this distance, he could see it.
"It's really there! Look!" Soren said, exasperated.
Maybe the old man had very poor vision?
"Don't talk nonsense!" the old man grunted, sounding angry.
Soren tried to argue, but the old man was unwilling to discuss it. Taking a step forward, he pointed the hoe toward Soren, almost as a warning.
"Who are you, huh? And what are you doing in our village? We don't accept outsiders, and we certainly don't need vagrants wandering around here, poking their noses where they don't belong."
His voice was rough, almost aggressive, and he seemed on the edge of telling Soren to leave.
Soren raised his hands in a gesture of peace, trying to remain calm.
At that moment, the best course of action was to keep up appearances. "I… I don't know. I just woke up there, in that wagon, and now I'm here. I'm not a vagrant. Please, I just need help, someone who can tell me where I am and give me food."
He pleaded, his voice heavy with uncertainty. Soren was doing his best to convince the other party to believe him.
The old man didn't seem convinced and looked at Soren as if he were some kind of unwanted intruder, or worse, a liar.
"I woke up early today to tend to the fields, and you're the last thing I expected to see. I don't have time for strange stories first thing in the morning." The old man huffed, tightening his calloused hands around the hoe's handle. "You should turn around and get out of here, boy. Leave, before the others see you."
"Before the others see me?" Soren murmured, casting a furtive glance at the village.
The old man huffed again, waving his hand as if trying to swat away a bothersome fly.
"Yes, before they see you. Now get out of here, kid. Leave, and quickly. We don't need strange people around here."
Soren took a deep breath. Putting on his best expression, he opened his mouth. "Please, I just need a place to stay… just until I can sort things out. The wagon… it broke down, and I… I need to fix it. Just until I can get everything in order."
If pleading sincerely wasn't working, Soren needed to try another, more convincing approach.
The old man stared at him, narrowing his eyes with suspicion. "A wagon, is it? You just said you woke up there, in that empty place. Now the wagon is broken?"
He pointed to the deserted road, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Seems like your story is changing, kid. Don't try to fool me."
Soren swallowed hard, his nervousness growing as he tried to maintain his fabrication. "It… it broke down further from the village." He improvised, gesturing with his hands in the opposite direction.
"I had to walk here, that's why it's not visible from here. I didn't lie. I didn't want to trouble anyone, but I'm out of options. I need a place to stay, just for a little while."
The old man crossed his arms, skepticism etched into every line of his face. He seemed to be evaluating Soren, his eyes traveling up and down as if searching for some sign to confirm or refute his words.
Finally, he let out an irritated sigh. "Listen here, outsider. Whether you're telling the truth or not is your problem. But I won't lie—I don't trust you. Our village doesn't accept just anyone."
Soren took a step forward, feeling a flicker of hope. "I promise I won't cause any trouble. I just need time to understand where I am, to… find my bearings."
The old man looked at him for a few more seconds before stepping back, shaking his head.
"Talk to the elder. If he decides you can stay, that's not my problem. But be warned: if you cause any trouble or create confusion, I'll be the first to throw you out."
Soren swallowed hard at that.
The old man seemed to be speaking seriously.
He had no idea who this elder was, but if he represented an authority in the village, he might be Soren's only hope.
Soren took one last look at the man in front of him, who continued to stare at him with suspicion and narrowed eyes.
"Thank you." He murmured, trying to sound grateful, but the old man merely grunted in response, as if any further words were an annoyance.
Still firmly holding the hoe, the old man turned and walked in the opposite direction, not bothering to look back.
'What a grumpy old man…' Soren thought to himself as he took his first step toward the entrance of the village.
He needed to speak with the 'elder.' If he was refused again in the end, all of this would have been for nothing. And if the elder was anything like this old man…
Soren feared he would have to spend a few nights staring at the stars.
"Wait."
The old man's voice sounded behind him.
***
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