As Tago exited the Post Masters hut, he was greeted by dim golden rays. The light was soft and the sun was inching toward the horizon, eager to rest beneath the mountains. Tago didn’t bother to measure the sun, he knew that when she peeked through the clouds and draped parts of the hillside in sweet amber ribbons, that twilight was quickly approaching.
“Ok, almost home,” Tago thought to himself. He hopped from side to side on the balls of his feet, stopped, and appeared to fall forward. Then he caught himself by planting his right foot firmly into the ground and lunged. Like a slingshot, Tago sprang forward and zipped down the dirt path. The constant rattling coming from within his pack acted as a metronome, dictating the cadence at which he ran and serving as a fruitful reminder to get home swiftly.
Between Rudango and Tago’s village, there were dozens of rivers and streams, each as wild and wide as the last. There were thick and mysterious forests, teeming with all sorts of woodland creatures; Great Elk, Moss frogs, wild boar, and Tago’s favorite, summer sprites. Summer sprites are soft-bodied beetles that buzzed around sluggishly in the fall and winter. But late into spring, they started to produce a glowing yellow light from within their abdomen. This light invigorated the beetles and they would spend the rest of the summer maneuvering above the forest floor, nimbly hunting caterpillars, millipedes, and even other lethargic Summer Sprites! Tago spent many summers positioning himself in a forest clearing and waiting for the glowing arrival of these flying critters. He would crouch and wait until an unsuspecting Summer Sprite flickered within arm''s reach and then Tago would smack the beetle out of the air. If Gonzo was prepared, the rat would leap from Tago’s shoulder, scurry over to the stunned beetle, and wuld deliver the final blow. After the two had amassed a respectively large lump of beetles, they would exit the forest and return home to roast the summer sprites over an open fire. Tago liked the taste and his keen reflexes and eyesight were better for it. The forest was home to plenty of other creatures less trivial than a glowing beetle, and some, with gruesome reputations.
Nestled between the rivers and forest were the villages of the Domingo province. Tago’s village was the smallest; it was well known for producing the sweetest berry preserves and most delicious fruit wines. The people in his village were uneducated but could recite fifteen different ways to determine if a piece of fruit was ripe for the picking, without even needing to touch it. The last member of Tago’s village who had entered, and won the Bery Festival, was a woman named Rika. This happened over 20 years ago and if Tago’s mother remembered correctly, she had submitted a, particularly delectable RazzBerry parfait. Tago’s mother always reminded him that, had she not gifted Rita that quart of milk, she never would have won in the first place.
Tago’s feet continued to beat on the path like a small drum. A growing symphony of Moo’s and the smell of manure alerted him to the fact that he was rapidly approaching the outskirts of Cava. Cava was a large cattle-farming village that supplied beef, milk, cheese, butter, and fine leather goods to residents, all over the Domingo province. One quickly grew accustomed to the smell, but the residents were much harder to tolerate. Albeit a broad generalization, the people were as stubborn and unpredictable as their livestock. Their ambition was fueled by their financial opportunity and their access to rich and energy-dense foods.
As the saying goes, “The most tenacious ones come from Cava”. This applies to both the steer and the individuals who raise them. When Tago was a little boy he had a friend named Orson who lived in Cava. Orson’s family processed and sold jackets, shoes, and light leather armor. Orson was a burly boy who had never been defeated in a wrestling match. He had short strong arms that he used when helping his father process hides. A few years ago, Tago had severed ties with Orson, after a particularly egregious incident at the river. Orson had hit his growth spurt much sooner than the other boys and he took it upon himself to demonstrate the contrast. Orson arrived at the river where other adolescents had already assembled after completing their duties. He flaunted his fine leather boots and challenged Yusef to a wrestling match. Yusef was a tall, blonde-haired boy from Tago’s village. Yusef’s father owned a wine farm and studied martial arts in his spare time. Yusef’s father trained his son how to maneuver around an opponent and to make calculated attempts to exploit weaknesses. Yusef accepted and the two made their way toward a flat piece of grass near the riverbank. The match lasted less than 10 seconds. Orson was slow, but with very little space, Yusef was not able to make the most of his agility. Orson grabbed Yusef by the collar and swung him over his hip and onto the ground. Yusef let out an expletive and demanded to be let go. Orson agreed, but not until he had helped Yusef wash out his foul mouth. Orson grabbed Yusef by the neck and plunged his head into the river. Yusef’s arms began to flail and Tago shouted at Orson to stop. Orson ignored Tago and laughed, submerging Yusef’s head deeper and deeper into the crisp water. Yusef’s arms flailed around violently and he clawed at Orson to try and make him loosen his grip. Tago stood frozen in place, a mixture of fear and embarrassment filled his head before spilling out of his eyes. Satisfied, Orson released Yusef who emerged from the surface of the river, gasping for air. Orson left the river bank and walked toward a group of teenage boys at the forest’s edge, who had been watching this ordeal take place.
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Tago shook himself off of that unpleasant memory, and quickly made way for a farmer and his drove. Tago smiled and the farmer nodded, then whistled at the herd, directing them off the road and into a narrowing path that led into the village. Tago was very cautious of where he stepped, so he ran with his head down for an extended period. When the smell of manure had faded from the air, Tago took a deep breath and lifted his gaze. Over the rolling hills, he could see the textile village of Tela.
Just outside of the village, a group of small children were running around in brightly colored clothes, flying kites. As he got closer, he could see that each child wore a personalized article of clothing, tailored specifically to the child''s special interest. One child had a silver wolf embroidered on the back of his shirt. The eyes gleamed as if taken directly from the beast and sewn onto the fabric.
Two of the children noticed Tago and ran toward him, holding the end strings of a kite. The taller of the two children ran up beside Tago and handed him the flying strap, then instructed him to do, something spectacular. Tago grabbed the kite string and began to run as fast as his legs and lungs would allow him. After quite a lengthy sprint, the kite had risen about three hundred feet into the air. The kite appeared to soar beneath the clouds like a wooden eagle and for a brief moment, flew alongside a flock of crows. The kite eclipsed the setting sun and its reflective embellishments shimmered and shined for all on the hillside to see. Then, Tago flicked his wrist sharply and the kite flipped and turned, before taking a nose dive straight toward the earth. The kite appeared helpless as it struggled to correct itself in the air. It began to falter and its colorful ribbon tails flapped in a desperate tantrum. Some of the children fell to their knees and one boy cried,
“It''s gonna crash!”
Tago feigned a gasp and stopped running “I.. I can''t control it!” he yelled. The kite began to fall faster and faster, like an injured bird who had come to accept its fate. As a collective, the children began to run. They converged on the point where they expected the kite to make a devastating impact on the ground. They could hear the kite whistling as it screamed toward the earth, and the tall boy to who the kite belonged to, couldn’t help but look away.
Tago screamed, “Look out!”, and the children covered their faces to protect their eyes from any splintering pieces of wood. Then, when the kite was only a few feet above the ground, tago pulled the thin string upward in a swift rising motion. Inches before crashing into the ground, the kite pitched toward the sky and its crossbar trembled turbulently. Tago twirled the string above his head and the kite corkscrewed as it gained altitude. The children roared with excitement and chanted,
“Kite King! Kite King! Kite King!”
Tago smiled at the children and shuffled off the path to wrap the flying strap around a nearby fence post. Tago saluted the children who were still crowded together to watch the aerial spectacular and Tago pantomimed placing a crown on his head. He returned to the path, quickly stretching his hamstrings, and continued to run. Feeling rejuvenated, he turned back one last time, to look at the sun.