08/30/21 Snippet, FLIM-FLAM MAN.



There was a road in these woods. And not just a dirt track, either. Actual stones could be seen, peeking through the grass. Gregor had found the road via the time honored tradition of stumbling across it, and the sudden change of footing made him lose his balance. Fortunately, the tree that stopped his undignified, headlong rush hit him in the shoulder, and not the nose. It still hurt enough that, comparatively speaking, falling on his rear was barely painful.

But after Gregor picked himself up — I’m too young to be this creaky, he thought, as he used the tree to get vertical — he felt a bit more philosophical about it. Even an abandoned road was a road, after all. It would go from one place to another one, and as long as he avoided the end closer to mobs and millponds, it should all work out. Besides, it was well past noon. The odds of him finding shelter at least before nightfall would be much better.