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The Travelers Stone
Oliver Noris looked at the smooth black stone in his hand and felt afraid. He was keenly aware now of what the stone meant. Placing the stone in his pocket, he walked over to the window and peered out at Upper Boddington. Its tall, talented trees, vast green fields, and distinctive rural charm was his home. He knew he would be leaving; he simply could not stay.
Several days ago while getting drunk at the Plough Inn, he met a traveler named Thomas Marion. Thomas was a casually unassuming figure. He sauntered into the pub, looked around, and darted towards Oliver. The two exchanged the usual pleasantries. If Oliver were not so completely battered that night, he would have sensed the oddity that was Thomas.
Oliver was mostly unremarkable, a cowardly man, a pub fixture, with not much going for himself. He worked at the local post office, went to church on Sundays, and had nobody in his life. Unless you count the crush on Freya Jones the pub owner. She was completely out of Oliver's league. If Oliver we're honest, he was obsessed with Freya.
Sure, he would participate in the dart games and drink himself into oblivion but Freya was the real draw. As with most things Oliver desired in life, she was unavailable to the likes of him. Thomas sat with Oliver, round after round, laugh after laugh until the evening shifted to a confession of sorts by his remembrance.
Whenever Oliver was hammered, he tended to turn into a sloppy, sad, sack of a man. He told Thomas everything about this life. His love for Freya, his overall discontent with his miserable job, how he felt his life was boring. Thomas didn't really feel sorry for him. Oliver found this odd in hindsight. No, Thomas almost seemed to be on a mission to convince him otherwise.
While Oliver was shitfaced, Thomas mentioned he was a traveler and that he had just come from Daventry. Daventry was about 10 miles from Upper Boddington. Daventry was fresh in Oliver's mind. About four days prior, the Cummins factory had caught fire, killing a large number of workers. It was all over the news. A completely freak fire. As the crowds thinned and the evening grew long, Thomas turned to Oliver and asked him, "what if for three...
Several days ago while getting drunk at the Plough Inn, he met a traveler named Thomas Marion. Thomas was a casually unassuming figure. He sauntered into the pub, looked around, and darted towards Oliver. The two exchanged the usual pleasantries. If Oliver were not so completely battered that night, he would have sensed the oddity that was Thomas.
Oliver was mostly unremarkable, a cowardly man, a pub fixture, with not much going for himself. He worked at the local post office, went to church on Sundays, and had nobody in his life. Unless you count the crush on Freya Jones the pub owner. She was completely out of Oliver's league. If Oliver we're honest, he was obsessed with Freya.
Sure, he would participate in the dart games and drink himself into oblivion but Freya was the real draw. As with most things Oliver desired in life, she was unavailable to the likes of him. Thomas sat with Oliver, round after round, laugh after laugh until the evening shifted to a confession of sorts by his remembrance.
Whenever Oliver was hammered, he tended to turn into a sloppy, sad, sack of a man. He told Thomas everything about this life. His love for Freya, his overall discontent with his miserable job, how he felt his life was boring. Thomas didn't really feel sorry for him. Oliver found this odd in hindsight. No, Thomas almost seemed to be on a mission to convince him otherwise.
While Oliver was shitfaced, Thomas mentioned he was a traveler and that he had just come from Daventry. Daventry was about 10 miles from Upper Boddington. Daventry was fresh in Oliver's mind. About four days prior, the Cummins factory had caught fire, killing a large number of workers. It was all over the news. A completely freak fire. As the crowds thinned and the evening grew long, Thomas turned to Oliver and asked him, "what if for three...
