The journey back toward the valley of Whispering Willow was like a funeral march for their grandest ambitions. Every step they took away from River Bend felt heavier than the last, as if the very gravity of their failure was pulling them down into the earth.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon on their second night of travel, the heavens themselves decided to weigh in on their misery.
A freezing rain began to fall, driven by a wind that seemed to find every tear, every loose seam, and every frayed thread in their worn clothing. It's like nature has a way of responding to your conditions in an almost ironic way.
Shivering and their teeth chattering in the cold, Hei and Bai sought refuge in a roadside establishment known as the Broken Spoke.
To call the Broken Spoke a tavern would be a grievous insult to taverns everywhere. It was just a little more than a dimly lit barn where travelers in despair gathered to drink away their sorrows into a temporary submission.
