The traveller jolted up, awakened by the cold drizzle. He quickly sought cover but was far from any. So instead he clung desperately to a nearby oak that hosted an odd fern; its large leaves providing shallow cover.
The traveller shivered intensely and fell into a curl. He kept his numbed hands close to his chest, all the while clutching tightly to stray pieces of cloak, lest the wind penetrate his drenched apparel. But he needn't have, as they were heavy and damp.
The traveller recalled days at the market, hearing groans and screams as it started to rain heavily. The inexperienced vendors clamoured for flying pieces of silk and wool, worth half their savings. The rain in wandering wood however, was very different. There were no groans and screams, only the pitter and patter of droplets on grateful leaves, the soft symphony of wood creaking and forest litter stirring. And the strong scent of rain that was so familiar but rarely noticed. The traveller shivered again and re-focused his attention on his goal.
The rain stopped and at once the traveller set out in a hopeful general direction. It was well past mid-day when he saw a figure in the distance, and to his great excitement it did not hop or trot or scurry, but walked on two feet as he. Energised and relieved at the same time the traveller jogged over to the figure slowly, only to be awash with great disappointment once more.
End of part 3
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