The flowers had gained a tint usually plastered in the sky as the sun was dwindling beyond the distant ocean. They were a red-orange, and so many of them burst through the ground that it appeared that they were the ground itself, masking the dirt they grew from. It was fall, a drowsy time of year. Few were outside at the time, most busy in their homes doing this or doing that. The whole village was sleepy, as the villagers shuffled and the building's creaked. The days were shorter, the sun setting sooner, and people began to adapt the routine that always came about in these days. They made it past, one day at a time.
It was at the particular time of where the flowers matched the sky that a few were crushed under the shoes of children let loose to play. They had been raised here, grew up here, and loved the flowers so much. Their parents had told them, once and again, that if they loved the flowers, they shouldn't crush them, but the children were what they were: children. Childhood is the time in life when people could live without thought. There was no tomorrow until it was today, and the day after was far too long to fret over. And so it was with these children. More so than they loved the flowers, they loved running through them, and so they did. As they ran, their white bodies raised a stark contrast to the red-orange around them.
Beyond the field, two women looked upon the two children, and smiled. They, deep inside, struggled to recall the time when they, too, were like the little ones. They couldn't. Years in this village blurred, and though very little happened, each year powered over the last, and those memories were forgotten, save the ones too strong to leave. The two mothers could only watch as their children were happy. They, though they couldn't remember, knew that they had once also run through the flowers, laughter pervading the air. That is why they never stopped the children.
Beyond the women very little happened, as was to be expected. There was the occasional man with items for his family making his was quickly home, but the street was left mostly barren. The loose dirt in the road was lightly twirled around by the wind. The wind was oddly strong that day, to be honest. Occasionally a breeze would break past the mountains into the valley, but very rarely with the strength it carried at this time. Clothes on their lines were being caught up and twirled around, some falling to the ground beneath. The wind was different that day.
As was what followed. The sun was falling farther down the sky, and the mountains to the east began to break in front of the light. The remaining light struck down upon the small village, its inhabitants, and one stranger wandering the road into town. The stranger was traveled. Around his shoulders was a huge green cloak, now wrapped around this whole body to protect him from the chill of the wind and the departing heat from the sun. His hair was black and caked with mud, as was the cloak, huge splotches stained everywhere. His face seemed to have been recently rubbed clean, but still had dirt and other such messes lightly visible. And despite the dirt he was covered in, his eyes were a brilliant green, like two gems lying in filth.
The empty streets were little welcome to the traveler. A sharp eye would have noticed the hobble in his step, but no eyes were there to meet him. Had it been a sooner day, in spring or summer, the streets would have been full of people glad to greet him. But that was not the time he arrived, and as such the stranger was left to search for someone, anyone, to ask for directions. As he walked farther into the village, through a gap between buildings he spotted two children running through the shining flowers. His feet carried him forward. When he reached the clearing where the field of flowers rested, he knelt down and drew one from the dirt.
The man's green eyes sparkled, and the color of the flower twirled around as it danced in the wind. The flower drew close to the stranger's nose, but he smelled nothing from it. He smiled. His wind-chapped lips seemed to split, but that didn't lessen the smile any. Only the sound of quick footsteps drew his eyes away from the flower. He stared up at the two children, a boy and a girl, who were looking at him.
"Do you like Yuralias too?"
The girl seemed excited as she spoke. The boy next to her leaned down towards the stranger and looked closer at the flower. He spoke quiet, almost like he didn't want anyone else to hear.
"My mom says the Yuralia only grows in our valley. Is that true?"
The stranger looked at the flower again, drawn in by the colors, and finally looked back up at the child.
"I've been lots of places, and this is the only place I've ever seen a flower quite like this."
The stranger dawned the smile that people always give in front of children. It was a reflex, a showing of pure joy at the fun and innocence of the creatures before them. It was impossible not to. More footsteps approached. The stranger looked over at the two mothers. Both had looks of worry on their face. The stranger stood back up, and asked, "Do either of you know where to find a place to stay for the night? I'm a bit wanting for a room."
One of the women gave him simple directions. He thanked them both, and went on his way, giving a glance and smile back to the children, who were already playing again. The stranger looked to the Yuralia in his hand. The red-orange colors became less vibrant as the sun vanished behind the mountains. With a flick, the flower left his hand and caught the wind, soaring up into the air. He then tucked in his arm, and pulled the cloak around himself once again.
The next time the cloak was pulled aside was when his hand again reached out beyond the cloth's protection to turn the handle of the wooden door in front of him. What was inside didn't surprise him the least. The traveler felt empty in the room. What is filled with people in a normal town was empty. The small village was so far off the road that the very fact they had a place to stay was amazing in itself. No one was at the counter, and there seemed to be no way to gain attention, save yelling.
Although empty, the place had a feel of comfort. The fire, keeping the room nice a warm, was staring to lose its push, and was near death. In front of the fire was a sofa, and the stranger took up a seat. For the first time in days, he reached around and untied the cloak from around his neck. Once he had it off, he laid it down beside him, and enjoyed the heat.
With the cloak removed, it was now possible to see the traveler's clothing. There wasn't much in excitement. A shirt, some pants, some old boots. The clothes themselves were ordinary. What drew attention was the red smeared along his pants, near his knee. There was cloth tied around there his upper leg, trying to slow the bleeding, and another cloth acting as a temporary bandage. It wasn't easy to tell how long he'd been walking with the wound, but the blood on the bandage, along with his pants, was long dry.
The stranger could hear voices from the back room, barely audible.
"I'm telling ya, I heard the door open!"
A girl opened up a door and walked into the common room. She was just past her teens, but had the look of a person who'd grown up a long time ago. She had blonde hair that went down to the base of her neck, and had blue eyes. She looked like she was getting ready to relax, though the instant she saw the man sitting on the sofa, she transformed into the perfect host.
"Well, welcome."
The stranger turned his head over to her, and watched as she got up behind the counter. He hesitated for a moment longer than seemed necessary, and the girl noticed.
"I trust you'll be wanting a room?"
That woke him up. The stranger got up onto his feet, grabbed his cloak, and walked over to the front of the counter with it tucked under his arm.
"I trust you'll have one?"
The girl gave a laugh which barely hid her sigh.
"More than one, if you haven't noticed. People around here don't get to sleep quite this early, ya know. So, what'll ya be having: big or small?"
"Rooms?"
The man watched the girl's face closely. She gave him a look, the kind of look that you give people when they can't grasp the obvious. The girl had obviously never been taught customer service.
"Look around yourself. You think you have a choice on what size room you get? Your choices are either a room, or a closet. I'm talking about a drink. First one's free."
The stranger finally noticed the array of drinks lined up behind the counter. The girl flipped her hand around as if to show off the selection. There wasn't much, but there was enough to make most people happy. He knew being specific would be useless.
"Give me something with the most alcohol you have."
The girl shrugged her shoulders, and turned around to grab at a drink. With the bottle in hand, she went to reach for a glass. The traveler stopped her.
"How much for the whole bottle?"
She looked up at him in surprise. The stranger noticed that the fire finally died,
"That much'll kill ya, ya know?"
"I don't plan on drinking it."
The girl's eyes glanced down until she came upon the wound on his leg.
"Gods. You were actually going to waste a whole drink on that. Let me get ya something a bit less tasty."
The girl ducked down and vanished for a few moments until she came back with rubbing alcohol.
"Have fun with that."
The stranger grasped the bottle, rolled it around in his hands for a bit, and set it down. He gave a hesitant smile, and then looked back up at the girl.
"Oh, I plan to."
"Well, with all that's up for now, I trust you'll want an actual room now, so you can have all the fun you want with that in your own place."
The boy nodded. He glanced all around at the building, taking in everything around him.
"What's your name? It's policy we know the name of everybody here."
The traveler smiled for a moment, but in a way that said he was both excited and nervous. Finally his tongue worked and he answered, "Asion Raam."
The whole room drew completely quiet, and the girl's eyes flashed in shock. He voice came out weak.
"Brother…?"
Asion smiled, and for the first time in years, Waiy Raam didn't know what to say.