Two old friends meet on a mountain road, but all is not as it seems between them.
 

    Jiri sat beneath a spreading cherry tree, watching the fiery sun slowly dip below the mountains.  The land was covered in pale red–forests, wide grassy plains, and the small villages of farmers that he could see in the valley stretching out below him.  Lights were coming on in the shadowed houses, cheerful yellow lights to drive away the coming darkness.  A gentle wind blew over the plain, and the air was warm.  The tree above him was in full bloom, covered with pink blossoms that were falling one by one to the ground.  Beside him was his journey pack and in front of him was the road, a straight causeway paved with regular blocks of square stone.  
     The road was still new–the Emperor had built it only a few years ago, to connect the trading city of Herito with the gold mines in the western mountains.  The gold mines had proven unprofitable and the road was now little traveled, used only by the local woodcutters and a few nameless vagabonds.  It stretched to the eastern horizon and vanished from sight to the west when it met the mountains and began to climb upwards.
    The valley sunset was every bit as lovely as any Jiri had encountered in his travels.  The sight of the red-gold beams filtering through the cherry blossoms, lighting each one on fire, warmed his heart more than anything he had seen in a long time.  The trees were always beautiful in the spring, and he had barely noticed it until then.  The odors that filled his nostrils, the wind upon his face, and the soft grass beneath him were relaxing.
    He glanced up, hearing the sound of footsteps on the road.  There was a man approaching from the west, framed against the purple mountains and the sun hanging above them.  As he moved closer, Jiri made out definite features.  He was a tall man, with dark blond hair and a short beard of a lighter color.  His eyes were deep brown, his face rough and sharply defined.  He was dressed in the finest clothes a farmer could expect to own: Blue wool pants, a soft shirt with the traditional sleeve and collar designs, and a rigid white vest.
    Jiri stood, brushing away a single blossom that had landed on his shoulder.  The man came up to him and said, “I had heard you were in the region before I received your message.  I’ve been expecting you Jiri.  But how did you know where to find me?”