With the winds

In the middle of the great Mithylian plains, a lone figure walked.

The clouds were clearing, he had been walking since mid-morning, after his simple breakfast of hard bread under a great raintree. Five hours later, there wasn't a tree in sight. The Great Mithylian Plains were great indeed. He figured that it might take him the rest of the zanh to reach the next settlement, according to his map. At least he would have a soft bed to spend the night on.

A rock, his keen elven eyes set on it. Something to lean on. Not as good as the buttress roots of a tree, but not as awkward as sitting in the middle of nowhere nonetheless. The wilderness is the wanderer's home.

The rock was a flat one, like a stool growing out of the earth. The elven wanderer put his backpack beside the rock. He laid three fingers on the top surface of the rock. Judging that it's cool enough, he turned around and sat on it. He took out his bottle from the backpack, splashed some water on his face, and rubbed away the grime on his face with his fingers.

The winds picked up. The wanderer stretched out his arms. The wind blow through his dark green hair. Under his arms and into his shirt. A small breeze swirled in his boots. He stretched backwards and deliberately tumbled onto the soft grass. Five hours worth of sweat dried off from his clothes. He figured that he'd save the hassle of changing into a clean set for another day.

On the grass he laid for a while. The winds were still blowing strong. He closed his eyes and dreamed off. The village he was heading to might have nice food and warm beds, but a windy clear day was a moment worth spending an eternity in.