Their feet were heavy as lead. Their throats were dry as deserts. Their packs were hollow. They did not have the strength to go much further.
But it seemed they did not have to. Just when all seemed lost, they stumbled upon this place.
An ancient place. Forgotten. Disused, but still good. It would be enough.
The old ones build this place, though no one could fathom how or why. What had it been for, with its tiny rooms, tiny fountains, and oddly shaped seats? Tiny rooms of prayer, perhaps?
The travelers, lay down their empty packs at the entrance. They bowed at the miniature fountains lining the walls. Behind a lush green curtain, a dull silver hid. The bravest of the travelers ran a hand over it and was greeted by a familiar face.
After drinking their fill from rusted taps, the travelers rested, before gathering their things and continuing on once more.
They did not dwell on this old place, for it had been built long ago and by the old ones, who had shuffled off the mortal coil eons before the current era.
Legends they were, nothing more.
We’ve gotten a lot of rain this week. I’m just glad it isn’t snow this go around. We’ve been lucky.