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of popcorn.</p><p id="275c">That was much more intriguing than a nap, so quickly springing to their feet, the windward scent was followed. Looking back, our Wanderer noted that the vale and the dale didn’t look as grey as before. Within a few moments, a small hut was found with a kindly person stirring a vat of popcorn over an open fire. <i>Well</i>!</p><p id="42a0">They greeted one another without a word, both with kind smiles on their faces — the kindly person offered them a wooden bowl of popcorn and a pipping hot cup of herbal tea.</p><p id="af53">After enjoying both refreshing gifts — the clouded sky slowly revealing the sun behind it — it was time to continue the newfound adventure. Leaving the narrower vale for the much wider dale and its babbling brook… Wait, that wasn’t there yesterday! Suddenly this unexplored place revealed itself. The skies seemed to them now that they were forever shining and smiling. Just when you thought you could rest, the Sun showered you, lightly teasing you with its light to bring you back to enjoy the day. The wind didn’t just bring scents, it brought encouragement, direction, and amazing advice. The road was wild when you wanted it to be. It was everywhere, always, and paced at whatever speed you wanted to travel. With regards to your safety of course—otherwise, it can be a dangerous thing you know.</p><p id="6429">Every aspect of this land had its own flavor; its own homely rabble if you will. There were no “<i>Lost</i>” people here, just the lucky few who found themselves. At sunset of that day, the road straightened to face the fiery orb and even more people came out from, seemingly from someplace hidden. They all joined hands in rows and walked toward the sun saying: “Good night,” and “See you tomorrow.” The Sun replied by shining brightly each eve where the lucky ones have rested together; beaming all over the road, creating a golden hue. When the Sun came to rest the Moon took over the duties of the evening.</p><p id="b040">It was called The Marches Of Gold and while none, save for one who knew why the others enjoyed the knowledge, who chased it, led them on.</p><p id="31c2">Our Wanderer smiled. Home, at last, no more wandering. With the tribe finally found, all future adventures to help others find their tribes began.</p><p id="7edd">The Fine Rabble indeed!</p><p id="c654"><b>The Fine Writer of this Piece:</b></p><div id="6cee" class="link-block"> <a href="https://medium.com/@philipwrites"> <div> <div>

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            <h2>Monsters in the Mountains</h2>
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    </div><p id="369d"><b>#Marchesofgold — #Thefinerabble</b></p></article></body>

The Fine Rabble — An Adventure In Friendship

Friendships that are worth a hearty recounting Tale

A Wooded Path — Credits To Austock

Our Wanderer wandered; as is the Wanderers’ will. After walking on a small road and seeing a farmer our swaying Wanderer shouts out:

“Hello! Can you tell me what’s ahead?”

“Heh. Pretty sure everyone wants to know that a few times in their life. Nothing much, just some Rabble. The few people who have come back this way say it’s a strange place, everyone talks funny and It’s just cold gray slate strewn about. It gets boring real quick.”

“What about the others?” our Wanderer queried.

The farmer, who had been transferring hay to a barrow for his animals, stopped working and slowly walked to a point just across the fence from our Wanderer. He took his pitchfork and in one swift motion — with the ease of decades of experience — shoved the tines securely in the ground. He then folded his hands over the end of the handle and rested his jowl upon them. With squinting eyes, he slowly yet firmly replied: “Ain’t never been seen since.”

Well! — You might have got me there. Thought our Wanderer; giving us both a moment of pause: This is what a Wanderer’s life is, tho’ ever uncertain; ever seeking to fill a hollow interior that they cannot identify. So, our journey continues onwards.

Eventually, the path led up to a low saddle between two high peaks; yet, simultaneously gently rolling in character. This saddle between the peaks seemed peaceful enough, knee-high alpine grass with various mountain flowers; ahead our Wanderer saw that indeed there was a wide dale, that looked quite grey and dull. Disappointing as that was, continuing forward however the sky became ever clearer; the sun beaming brighter tho’ the dale still looked as if it was covered in a thin shale.

As time wore on, fatigue overcame our Wanderer, who found a spot on the slope of a nearby vale and laid back to rest. Watching clouds is always a relaxing way to rest, they thought. These particular clouds looked much like kernels of popcorn. And with that, a slight breeze brushed the face of our Wanderer bringing with it the scent of popcorn.

That was much more intriguing than a nap, so quickly springing to their feet, the windward scent was followed. Looking back, our Wanderer noted that the vale and the dale didn’t look as grey as before. Within a few moments, a small hut was found with a kindly person stirring a vat of popcorn over an open fire. Well!

They greeted one another without a word, both with kind smiles on their faces — the kindly person offered them a wooden bowl of popcorn and a pipping hot cup of herbal tea.

After enjoying both refreshing gifts — the clouded sky slowly revealing the sun behind it — it was time to continue the newfound adventure. Leaving the narrower vale for the much wider dale and its babbling brook… Wait, that wasn’t there yesterday! Suddenly this unexplored place revealed itself. The skies seemed to them now that they were forever shining and smiling. Just when you thought you could rest, the Sun showered you, lightly teasing you with its light to bring you back to enjoy the day. The wind didn’t just bring scents, it brought encouragement, direction, and amazing advice. The road was wild when you wanted it to be. It was everywhere, always, and paced at whatever speed you wanted to travel. With regards to your safety of course—otherwise, it can be a dangerous thing you know.

Every aspect of this land had its own flavor; its own homely rabble if you will. There were no “Lost” people here, just the lucky few who found themselves. At sunset of that day, the road straightened to face the fiery orb and even more people came out from, seemingly from someplace hidden. They all joined hands in rows and walked toward the sun saying: “Good night,” and “See you tomorrow.” The Sun replied by shining brightly each eve where the lucky ones have rested together; beaming all over the road, creating a golden hue. When the Sun came to rest the Moon took over the duties of the evening.

It was called The Marches Of Gold and while none, save for one who knew why the others enjoyed the knowledge, who chased it, led them on.

Our Wanderer smiled. Home, at last, no more wandering. With the tribe finally found, all future adventures to help others find their tribes began.

The Fine Rabble indeed!

The Fine Writer of this Piece:

Marches Of Gold; Write For Our Publication:

Another Piece by our Writer:

#Marchesofgold — #Thefinerabble

Friendship
Family
Fiction
Wellness
Writing
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