Whitebridge's cobblestone square was already teeming with villagers when Rianor's party arrived.
An ancient stone well sat in the center of the square. Dry green moss clung to the crevices of its masonry, wrapping around wooden posts that supported a rusted iron pulley. The bucket rope had snapped and dangled uselessly. The villagers stood in a wide circle, maintaining a respectful distance, as if the well were a fragile artifact forbidden to touch. Some pulled their cloaks tighter and whispered, while others stood frozen, staring.
Roland wiped the sweat from his temple, observing the dozens of eyes that stole glances in their direction. "Hah... we've officially become the day's main attraction."
"Good," Rianor replied flatly, adjusting his spectacles. "The more eyes watching, the harder it will be for Elias to refuse us the Travel Pass."
