Marak trudged through the slushy roads, making sickening squishy sounds with every step.
It had been a long trek, and Marak’s heavy backpack was weighing him down. He pined for a hot meal. He had never gone hungry for even a day before this, let alone three. He had almost made up his mind to toss his bag, when he spotted The Inn.
He could feel hope re-enter his body. He summoned his remaining strength and dragged his heavy load to The Inn’s door. He saw that a notice hung on the door. It was written in a script he did not understand, so he paid it no heed. He pushed lightly on the door with the intent to knock, but to his surprise, the door swung open. Marak saw a round table with hooded figures sitting at it. One of them spoke up.
“How did you enter the secret lair?”
“The Inn has been enchanted to allow only the greatest of individuals to enter. Individuals who are destined to change the world. You, young man are one such person. Chosen by Fate itself.”
Marak scratched his nose.
“All that’s fine, mate. But, do you serve food here?
Word Count: 200
Sunday Photo Fiction August 26, 2018