The Eastern Road

The fire spat sparks as he dropped the fuel into it's belly; They drifted away on a slight breeze, dying slowly in the warm, dry air. The sun had sunk into the earth, casting a rich glow around the low, jagged horizon. The tall grasses of the plains stretched for eternity in all other directions, a constant ripple disrupting the smooth surface of the land.
The silence of dawn of dawn, the breath before the day begins, deep and pure, is nothing to the vivid, lush life found in dusk; right as dark rolls over the land softly, patiently bringing mystery and peace. He leaned against a tree taking a deep breath. In his hands, the weapons of his trade: A sword taken from a still cooling corpse and a dagger won in a fight. Images of battle and burial ran through his mind. He didn't remember the faces of the multitudes that he had killed. He knew only that he had done what was asked of him, and had received the rewards of his deeds. He strapped the dagger back into his belt and thrust the sword into the crusted earth beyond the heart of his fire.
The night was clear and warm, the sky littered with stars, but absent the moon. Crickets sung from the grass, a low symphany for the breeze to dance to, leading him into a light sleep.

The Goddess stood before the abyss, brightly silver hair flowing about her as if she were immersed in water. Her eyes matched the abyss, like almond-shaped holes, against the palest, shining skin. She smiled at him, the radiance knocking back into the waking world.

The days had long gone when a man could wonder for days without coming across another soul, and though he'd never witnessed them, Katorian missed them. He saw the traces of humans and their devices everywhere he went, sometimes passing them on the road, or leaving the road so as not to draw their attention. Sometimes, however, it could not be helped.
"Lo, there, Traveler! Would a strong, brave soul such as yourself care to let this old man travel with you? I've long been without a horse, if I could ride yours but...."
"You'll find no such help here, old man. I see your mark, you are not as smart as some of you thief brethren. They might even be ashamed."
The old man shook his sleeve down, even in the heat of the afternoon; If he did not hide the black tattoo that marked him as a thief, he might be murdered, or he might not get away with his thieving...
"A mistake a young man made, on an empty belly, and emptier purse."
Katorian watched his eyes. He knew that he stood little chance of losing anything, for he had very little to begin with, and his instincts told him that the old man was but a small threat.
"Come with me to the next town. Do not steal from me, old man, it'll be the last thing you do."
A smile lit his dirty face, Katorian noticed his teeth. They were not the ground-down stained ones of the poor, they were white and in good shape. This man was not always without a horse...