Heather Wasteland, southeastern stretch of the main road.
The spring wind carried wave after wave of bitter scent.
Heather blossoms did not exactly stink, but breathe them in for too long and a dull pressure began to build at the temples, as if someone had stuffed a wad of wet, bitter medicinal cotton deep into your nostrils and was slowly twisting it.
On both sides of the road, purple heather trees spread to the very edge of sight, crouching low against the ground.
Every now and then, a slightly taller shrub poked its head out from among them, its branches swaying listlessly in the wind.
Though it was called a main road, it was really no more than a yellow-brown trail repeatedly crushed into the earth by wagon wheels and horse hooves. It was uneven and pitted, dry ruts alternating with fresh mud, showing that quite a few wagons and riders had passed through recently.
A lone carriage was making its way north along the road at a snail's pace.
The wheels rolled over a shallow pit, jolting the whole carriage.
"...Two hundred and eighty-seven."
At the front of the carriage, a man in a gray traveling robe lowered his head, turning a thumb-sized crystal ball in his hand as he muttered under his breath.
"Adding the travel expenses, food and lodging, and the cost of horse feed, then subtracting the repair costs for worn equipment..."
Ryan made the crystal ball float five centimeters above his fingertips, trying to draw his swollen, aching mind toward something else.
"I'd have to kill at least two hundred and eighty-seven Goblins just to break even."
He raised his head and looked at the figure by the roadside.
"Fenn, are you sure Dart's bounty rates haven't changed?"
Fenn Mulligan, carrying a bow on his