Tago raced the sun. His feet were sore from a long day at the market, but they had not yet begun to blister. The three remaining jars of preserves clanked around his pack, nagging at him to remind his mother that no one in their right mind would buy spiced pumpkin, this late into spring. Tago tightened the strap across his chest and adjusted his pack to fit neatly in the small of his lower back. He secured his purse and clutched the produce that he had bartered for, before taking one more look back at the sun. It suspended itself over the hillside, a dazzling fixture illuminating the fields and winding paths that sprawled across the western half of the Domingo province.
At this time of year, the sun urged the children to quickly finish their chores, so that they may play along the creeks, catching bugs, frogs, and occasionally a fever. Their parents worked diligently, taking advantage of the mild climate and rewarding themselves at the end of the day with ripe fruit and sweet wines. Generally, the residents of the hillsides were welcoming to one another as demonstrated by the gleeful manner in which they greeted their neighbors and patrons, but with the berry festival less than 10 days away, competitiveness filled the air like a dense fog.
Tago paused, took a deep breath, and turned the back of his hand to face the sun. He extended his four fingers horizontally and folded his thumb into his palm. Then he overlayed his pinky, parallel to the horizon. He squinted and raised the corner of his lips to meet the creases beneath his cheekbones.
“I still need to grab the post,” he thought to himself as he lowered his arm, “If I hurry, I should still make it back in time.”
Tago shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet, leaning forward before settling into a comfortable rhythm to run to. His black hair bounced beneath his eyes and he brushed the ends of his hair back behind his ears, revealing his stained fingertips. He began to pump his arms feverishly and his legs followed.
The market was open every Saturday and Sunday from Sunrise to Sunset. The residents of the Domingo province traveled westward toward the coast from their farms and villages to purchase and sell goods. All the farms and Villages were located east of the market, on the hillsides. The market road continued eastward toward the Hursay Mountain range where warmer air spurred ingenuity in the larger cities. The fruit farms in the Domingo province were strategically placed along the running springs at the base of the Hursay mountain range. The freshwater that ran down the mountain nourished the soil, producing a rich purple color and a firm texture. Some residents claimed that an overactive stream excited the soil and thus produced larger bushes with more vibrant fruit. Others claimed that the shyness of the Sun in the winter determined how harsh the rays would be in the spring, which was crucial for peak sweetness.
Tago was partial to fruit but may have harbored some animosity toward the culture it produced. The Hillock were a kind and simple folk, content with living quaint and peaceful lives. Conversely, Tago carried a deep desire to prove himself as more than a simple berry farmer. If it were not for his mother, he likely would have left the hillside years ago, but Tago adored his mom. He loved to see her smile, which was a rare occurrence, and quite a startling one, when it appeared without warning.
Tago’s concentration was quickly interrupted, “awwgk” he uttered, as he slipped on a cowpie that had found his right step while in stride. He quickly shuffled off the path to rinse his foot in a nearby creek.
“Just my luck” he mumbled. He looked up and saw a few hillock children across the creek, peeking through the woods, laughing and stumbling over themselves
“Mooo” the children mocked “MOOO”, before disappearing into the trees.
Tago picked himself up and shook off the excess moisture from his foot before returning to the path. He looked down, then quickly began to run once more.
After a few more close encounters, he arrived at the city gates of Rudango. The brick archway at the west end of the city entrance was adorned with colorful banners and the mortar joints appeared recently brushed, revealing cold gray stone and ashen grout that lined the City walls of Rudango. The walls were dull, protective, and stood 50 feet tall. The interior of the city, however, was as lively and inviting as a carnival. Approximately 300 Hillock lived within the walls of Rudango, and 5 times as many frequented the city to patronize its shops, pubs, and masonries. Rudango was split into 4 distinct sections, which divided themselves laterally, across the city. As intended, this commercially advantageous layout insisted that its guests visit each of the four sections before exiting on the opposite side of the city walls.
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“Sun Pies, Moon Pies, best you’ll find in the city!” Shouted a dirty man pushing a cart with a dozen or so of, quite possibly, the most delicious-looking berry tarts Tago had ever seen.
Tago’s stomach muttered, and he quickly hopped onto the cobblestone path opposite the dirty man. He followed the path eastward, passing confectionaries and restaurants filled to the brim with sweet treats and jolly customers. Jealousy filled Tago’s gut like a stone, tumbling around until it settled at the bottom of his stomach and confused his feeling of hunger for a dull and growing resentment, which was fortunate since he hadn’t eaten since the blueberry puree he had for breakfast. Tago began to run, or at least he tried to, parts of the cobblestone path were slick with soapy water, as some shops were mopping their storefront as part of their closing duties. He walked slower than he liked, glancing into the shops through his periphery. He glanced through the paned windows of a shop one-fifth the size of its neighbors and noticed a bronze sun hanging above the register. From its center, it emitted three golden rays, dividing the sun into thirds. The rays appeared to flicker in a dull orange roll, like a campfire that was preserving the last log of its bundle.
Tago paused and turned to a young lady outside of the store who was pacing from table to table, picking up empty plates, stained napkins, and unattended cutlery. She might have been 3 years older than Tago, but the bags under her eyes belonged to that of a woman who may have been 10 years his senior. She had dark blonde hair, that she wore under a red head cover. Some strands of hair had escaped and were darting about wildly as if they were trying to help the frantic women finish clearing the tables.
Tago interrupted, “Do you know how long before Twilight?
The young lady turned to look at Tago, her eyes shifting between the tattered ends of his pants and his stained fingertips, before settling on a black smudge on his nose.
“One second”. She gestured with her eyes as she finished folding a linen tablecloth she had draped across her chest. She reached into her apron and retrieved a small brass locket. The rightmost edge of the locket was well-worn, providing the user a guide for which end of the face plate to open.
“We still have about 90 minutes,” she said
“Thank you!” Tago exclaimed, before turning once more down the cobblestone path.
“Wait, stay right here” the tired-eyed woman whispered. She entered the shop and returned holding a small paper bag.
“Here” she spat, “These are our signature Aubergine turnovers. You’ve never had better”. She was right of course; Tago didn’t even know what an aubergine was.
Tago took the small white bag hesitantly, before fumbling into his purse to retrieve his coin.
“No, please. I don’t want your money. But if you have any spare jam from today''s market….”
Tago curled his fingertips into his palms and pressed the produce he was carrying against his chest. He reluctantly set the produce down before rummaging in his pack.
“Of course! Here, you can have these.” Tago handed the young woman the three remaining jars in his pack.
“Are these spiced pumpkin?” she asked as she inspected the jar. “These were my mom’s favorite!” she cried, as she opened one of the lids to sample the pumpkin preserve. She closed her eyes for a moment, reminiscing of a simpler time. A time when her efforts were spent on greeting customers and helping her mother and father peel potatoes in the kitchen. She sampled another finger''s worth of pumpkin preserve, which sent a long, thin grin across her face.
Tago held his breath, not wanting to interrupt this young woman''s warm recollection. Finally, he let it slip out, “We make a pretty good raspberry spread too! I’ll be sure to save you one for next time.” Tago placed the white paper bag in his pack, thanked the young women, and turned to face the cobblestone path
“Be cautious in the dark” she muttered.
Tago replied, “The light will guide me”.