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Something begins
A man walked out of the woods. He was tall, athletically built without being musclebound. His jeans and sweater had probably been nice, at one time, but they had the look of weather exposure, salt and dirt and sand crusted in various places, his shoes beginning to fall apart. He hadn't shaved for a day or two, and had made, it seemed, only a cursory attempt to comb his hair with his fingers. He carried no bag, nothing in his hands.
He had walked along the tree line for awhile, out of plain sight. His eyes had rested on the town in front of him. If anyone had seen him, they might have wondered what he saw; Britannia was a pretty enough little town, but it hardly merited such close scrutiny.
Still, whatever he had seen, he had apparently made his decision.
A man walked into town. He was not a tourist. He looked like he had been walking for miles. And though his step was firm, it was clear he could use some help.
He had walked along the tree line for awhile, out of plain sight. His eyes had rested on the town in front of him. If anyone had seen him, they might have wondered what he saw; Britannia was a pretty enough little town, but it hardly merited such close scrutiny.
Still, whatever he had seen, he had apparently made his decision.
A man walked into town. He was not a tourist. He looked like he had been walking for miles. And though his step was firm, it was clear he could use some help.