The mist hung heavy and moist on every side, tendrils shifting like snakes around the horses hooves. It was not the most auspicious start to any journey and Meeka shifted unhappily in the wide saddle.
As they crossed the journeyman’s bridge, Meeka & Smeg were offered the same view of the grand old city that all young men and women of age were meant to see. That of an imposing fortress, never breached, never concurred. The heart of a kingdom that had lasted for longer than common memory could stretch.
Those arriving to begin their journeyman’s quest would be struck by first the beauty, and secondly the grandness in scale of the ancient city. Those leaving were meant to fell lose and to take with them the memory of a home like no other. Both effects discouraged departures and hastened homecomings, giving craft masters the pick of students from all over the Kingdom, and many from distant lands as well.
This single tradition had guaranteed the Kingdom continued to hold the greatest artisans in it’s heart through generation after generation.
Smeg slithered her way across Meeks neck, her cool body causing Meeks skin to become peppered with goose bumps.
“Take a last look girl, we wont be seeing anything so grand for a long time I should think.”
The horse snorted and shifted his weight, less impressed with the view then his rider and a little impatient to be off the rickety old bridge. Meeka pated it’s neck and flicked the rains, the horse moved on, head down against the chill air. Meeka’s eyes locked on the last view of the city as the horse lead them out of sight, around the cliff face.
The city itself failed to notice the departure of one of her most devoted citizens. Those who had known the young scholar dismissed the young souls existence, just as quickly as they had first accepted it. Only the old Master watched the lone figure disappear into the fog, a sad smile creasing his lips and knowing a sparkle shining in the corner of his eyes.
Word Count: 361