Temporary Fixes

Jack knew he should be hanging on to every resource he could, but he had a hard time regretting the decision to send still more herbs, meat, and other useful things back to the little village they’d left nearly a month before. He glanced back at the little planter below the rear window of his wagon and at the pale, limp shoots that had sprouted there—another failed seedling. His vow to regrow the tree rang hollow in his ears, jsut as he was sure it rang hollow to those who’d heard it.

It was one of so many things that needed fixing, rebuilding. One of many catastrophes that lay in the wake of the traveling group from MEadowmere. A temple reduced to rubble, a lone tree in a wasted land felled by a hasty blade. And all the dead. His regrets touched briefly on the lives lost, but only some left the ache of loss in his heart. There would be more time to mourn the dead and right the wrongs done, but this wasn’t a day for such indulgences. Ahead, he could see the shimmer of the ocean, and the haze of a port, a reminder of what lay ahead:

Vertigron awaited.

Mayhap the bits and bobs he’d scrounged together might be of some value. Mayhap he’d thrown silver after dross. There was only one way to find out. To set sail on the Wind Roads. In truth, it was his least favorite way to travel. Wissian’s emblem was a boot for good reason. Water was ever-changing, and ships made for unsteady footing, to say nothing of poor digestion. Still, there was nothing for it but to do it.

“No path but forward,” Jack muttered.