A steady footfall broke the still evening, boots scuffing against the hard-packed dirt road. Ranks of maize loomed to either side, wilting and gone to seed where they stood in their fields; a warm breeze sent brown leaves hissing in greeting. In the distance a lone stand of poplars shivered and glittered in the absence of a flock. The setting sun threw copper-orange rays through fingers of corn which reached and pointed and swayed. The Traveller walked on.
Their arrival was heralded only by their shadow, stretching long and thin down the road as the maize abruptly gave way to muddied grass and fence posts. Fiery light caught on thatched roofs and stone foundations, and cast even deeper shadows by contrast. Two rows of humble houses lined the path, as solemn as the crops, doors creaking in the evening air. Not five paces away, a slip of darkness detached itself from beneath an eve. It approached the Traveller on padded feet, a smear of black that defied the red light of the sun, and coiled itself around their ankles.
Hello, it purred. I’ve been waiting.
The Traveller bent to caress its silken head with a hand at once unblemished and wrinkled with age. The shadow, appearing not to mind, presently trotted further up the road. The Traveller leaned heavily on their stick to rise, their long shadow distorted by the sun in its sleepy confusion; the maize sighed in chorus. The Traveller walked on.
One of the doors gaped in invitation, shuttered windows like closed lids, darkness spilling from parted lips. Twilight settled like a blanket over the village; no crickets chirruped despite the late summer warmth. From the maw stepped a frail figure.
“Is it time to go?”
The Traveller extended a child’s hand to the wizened shadow in the doorway.
“Well…if I must.”
The hand became a man’s, tough and hardened by work, then a woman’s. The shadow accepted it gratefully, and joined the Traveller on the path. The slip of darkness wove between their legs, skirting around the cool light of the moon. And the moon, being wiser than the sun, left the Traveller well enough alone.
The row of houses were engulfed once more by the fields, heads of corn crowding close and lit in pale relief. The cool night air played sonatas in their leaves, to which the shadows danced with glee. And the Traveller walked on.
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