As the sunlight penetrated the tent and shone on Silvanic's face, he slowly opened his eyes, which were lined with fine crow's feet.
The summer dew condensed on the tent, and the green blades of grass poked out from beneath the canvas.
Outside the tent, the crackling of the fire, the harsh scraping of a ladle against the bottom of an iron pot, and the increasingly clear voices of young people talking could all be heard.
Silvanic sighed, put on his scholar's robe, and lifted the tent flap to step outside.
Standing at the tent's entrance, Silvanic took a deep breath of the morning air, filled with the scent of fried eggs and the grass.
In front of him was a campsite for carriages and horses, enclosed by a crude fence.
Dozens of tents were scattered on the hilly campsite, with merchants and travelers gathered around various campfires, cooking breakfast in copper pots or tin pans.
