Whilo stepped outside his front door and walked down the pathway through his garden. He sighed happily at the scent of flowers drifting in the breeze and the sound of the fountain gurgling as he walked by. When he reached the gate, he thought he knew exactly what he was going to do. His gate led out into the country side, and there was one road that led through it. At a point it would split into two roads. Every day, he would take the road that veered left, led onto the bridge over the river and continued on into the little town. He would go there to buy produce and to chat with old friends on their front porches while enjoying the midsummer air. The other road took a sharp right and wound deep through the meadow and into the wilderness beyond. Whilo never went down that road, and neither had anyone in recent years. Further back, when Whilo was a child and his parents were still alive, they warned him not to go down there, or else a big wildcat may wander along and eat him. The oldest man in the town was eighty-seven, and the last time he ventured through there, he was ten. “There’s nothing down there,” said the old man one day. Brom was his name. “The closest thing to a town was this mean old hermit, but apparently the further back you go, the more unfriendly it gets.”
There were no clouds in the sky today and nothing to obscure the light of the sun. It seemed to bring out the fullest of the colors of everything in the countryside. Radiant hues shown from every flower and every tree. As Whilo got closer to the fork in the road, houses began popping up on his left, not much different from his own. They were made of wood and stone and had gardens, and a couple had ponds where ducks would come to settle. It was a very controlled and familiar charm that he had seen every day of his life. He looked to the right. It was wild. Untamed. Caught in the sunlight, the flowers glowed the brightest, and the trees stood the tallest. Flocks of birds rose from their branches and soared in every which way. He couldn’t explain why he felt this way, today and not any day before, but he felt an itching curiosity that lead him away from his homely left. He reached the fork in the road and saw the river and the bridge and the bend, on the other side of which was the little town. He saw the unkempt road that led away from everything he knew into a country that only Old Brom vaguely remembered. The town will be there when I get back. He thought to himself. He scratched his head for a moment, and then he turned right.
He did not know how long he planned to spend venturing out here. He had walked for an hour, and certainly, there was not so much as a woodshed to be found. One would assume no one had ever even seen this place. But it was serene. Quiet. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of birds chirping. The sunlight touching the forest gave it the likeness of silent emerald flames. This isn’t bad at all. Thought Whilo. I rather like it, to be honest. I think I’ll come out here more often. It’s not as though I do anything much these days. He did not stop, and he came upon a river. The same river from home made a wide curve around the country and made its way out here. Hmm. How about that? But something else caught his eye. A boathouse sat on the other side of the river, and a row boat was tethered to the deck. It knocked against the wood as it bobbed up and down in the water. Immediately, Whilo harkened back to Brom’s tale about the mean old hermit, and for a brief second, he felt the timidity he had when as a child, he looked down the road that went right, anticipating a wild beast to come running after him. Nothing happened, and Whilo chuckled at himself. Brom knew the old hermit seventy-seven years ago. The fact remained however, that someone lived out here and was perhaps at home, seeing that the front door was wide open.
A noise suddenly came out from inside the house, and Whilo jumped. There was the sound of objects colliding with each other and of rummaging through equipment. Whilo stepped over to the edge of the river, and he saw a shadow in the doorway. He waited to see if anyone would come out. A young man stepped through the door, and he carried with him a travel sack. He was no hermit, and he dressed similarly to a townsfolk with a white buttoned shirt and brown trousers with suspenders. He was humming to himself when he caught sight of Whilo staring at him from across the river.
“Hello,” said the man with an inviting smile. “What’s your name?”
“Whilo, what’s yours?”
“Alder. I’ve never seen anyone come down this way before. Where are you from?” Whilo now came to ease. “Do you know the town of Shane? It’s an hour in the direction I came from.” Alder squinted as he placed his travel sack in the boat. “Can’t say that I do. I go east mostly. From what I heard not much goes on the other way.” Whilo chuckled at that. “You’re not wrong. That’s sort of why I came out here. I’m looking for some where interesting to go.”
“Well you came to the right place.” Alder hopped into the boat and began untying it from the post. “Do you have to get home anytime soon?” He grabbed the oars and rowed over to the bank Whilo stood at. “You’re inviting me to come with you?” He asked Alder as he drew up on shore. “Sure, why not? It’s nice to have company every now and then.”