Runaway in Hyrule Chapter Eleven - Roadside Camp

Instructions

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔* Chapter 11 - Roadside Camp °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Everyone picks up their things and starts heading down the path again. A light breeze rustles through the tall grass on either side, carrying the faint smell of wet earth. “I hope it rains,” a young woman says. She walks beside Kael, maybe around my age. She has short auburn hair pulled into a messy half-tie and freckles that dot her cheeks. She kicks a pebble down the road and grins up at the sky. “Why’s that?” Kael replies, adjusting the strap of his bag. “I love the rain. The sound of it… the way it cools everything down.” She smiles softly. “Plus, it’s the best sleep you’ll ever get.” Kael chuckles. “Maybe for you. Traveling in wet boots isn’t exactly great.” “That’s the price of beauty,” she jokes, raising her palms. A few people laugh, and the mood stays light. I let their conversation fade behind me as I look around at the scenery. The fields roll gently on both sides of the path, dotted with large boulders and the occasional tree. The sky has shifted into late afternoon gold, everything glowing warm and soft. The rest of the day passes in quiet conversation and the steady crunch of footsteps. “It’s getting dark,” a man calls out from the front of our little group. He’s tall, with a travel-worn green cloak and a thick brown beard. “Best if we stop and set up camp. We’ll reach the stable by tomorrow.” Everyone agrees without complaint. We move off the main path and spread out, giving each other comfortable space. A few people pick spots near bushes or small rock formations, while others stick to open ground. I find a good-sized tree with low, sheltering branches and walk over to it. I set my backpack against the trunk and pull the rolled cot off my back. With a soft thump, I unroll it under the tree, patting down the corners so it sits flat. People chatter across the clearing. “Who’s making dinner tonight?” someone calls. A couple laughs answer back. “I think it’s Johnny’s turn tonight!” “Oh no,” another voice teases. “Hope you like things extra crispy.” More laughter drifts through the air as people arrange their space. Now that I think about it, I am pretty hungry. My stomach gives a tiny growl, reminding me. So I get up and walk over to the small clearing where a handful of travelers are gathering stones for the campfire and unpacking cooking pots. A woman stirring through supplies looks up. “Hey, want to help gather some wood? We’re trying to get this fire going before we lose the last bit of light.” “Sure,” I say. “What do you need?” “Anything dry,” she replies with a smile. “Twigs, sticks, whatever you can find that isn’t damp.” A few others around her nod and continue setting up — one is stacking stones into a fire ring, two more are preparing the ingredients that Johnny apparently insists on turning into something resembling dinner. As I head toward the edge of the campsite to collect sticks, the sky above fades deeper into purples and blues. The grey clouds from earlier drift lazily, still undecided about rain.