Fine rain floated in the sky, a fresh breeze gently blew by. Under the gray and cold sky, the merchant caravan advanced slowly on the low grassland.
Sitting in the carriage, Hexia lightly rested her hand on the seven-stringed zither. Her fingers occasionally brushed over the strings, producing waves of music. Her eyes would sometimes lift to look out of the carriage window into the distance, recalling the news and intelligence she had heard not long ago from a small settlement they passed by.
In this grassland, various settlements battle for land rich in water and grass, and the relationships between them have always been tense. It's no wonder they were wary of the merchant caravan at first sight.
