A tale started on an accidental journey to Cantebury
The world is bleak. The sky a flat featureless grey that hangs dull and heavy. It is so weighted to ebb at the edges and smother the far trees and hills, leaching them of colour. It sits as if, in one out breath, it will sink and cover the land in sleep. It is held back only by a sharp inconstant wind that appears, turns, bites, stops and is gone. A reminder that sleep may be a terminal choice.
Canterbury is still many miles walk and Thomas will be lucky to make it before nightfall. If he does there will be an alehouse, warm fire and food. If not he may have to find shelter as the discretion of his journey has made him take an unfamiliar route. His meeting is not until the midday tomorrow and he would have time to make the final distance in the morning. Still, a fire and food would be good, and he quickens his pace along the road.