Asra, the boy of secrets it would seem. His things were packed, and tonight was one of the last times he could spend with his troupe. From his wooden trailer-wagon, he could hear them outside, laughing around the fire. It stung, to leave them high and dry like this, but what was he to do? To be a part of the troupe his entire life, never to wonder what it would have been like, had he only swam against the tide his life had tried to drown him in? No, he didn't think he could live with himself like this. Whether it was the musky smell of the applewood outside that now burned in fiery competition to the stars, or his own weakness, tears could only reach the brim of his eyes in that familiar sting. His pack was filled with a couple changes of clothes, and a loaf of bread. He wouldn't tell the others that he was about to leave. It would be an ordeal that might change his mind, or sway his resolve. He left a note beneath his crystal orb prop he used for the sake of gimmickry, and had cleaned up his room for whoever they might house next as a part of their act. Within the note, he also enclosed his next client's reading, a pre-precognition, if you will.
Right, now or never. He opened to the backdoor, and spied the forested part of Arkanshire ahead. He moved quietly, though no one found him, or even looked in his direction. His secret escape, a success. As he maneuvered around particularly dry twigs and small ground toads, he thought he could have given them a signal as he retreated. But he'd told them of his plans, and he might be egotistical enough to hope that it was the reason the only key sober people right now had turned in early. Sephi must have had to, her child and Asra had been as thick as thieves. The young girl had cried about it, Sephi told him, and had gone as far as to saw through his trailer wheels with nothing but a wire string! They'd had to get it repaired and it had set the caravan itself half a day late! He'd bought her a stuffed horse to pacify her, but she'd thrown it at him, and stained it with wine that sat on the table behind him, and yelled, "I don't need this, because you aren't leaving!"
As Asra reminisced, he spied a portal within the quiet wood. Pine needles scattered all around its base, and the odor carried to Asra's nostrils. He looked around, and ducked behind the trunk of a tree, and spied if anyone else planned to use this portal. But he heard and saw no one. He wondered if they might be behind another tree, and saw him approach the portal too. But he doubted it. There was little an occasion that someone ever found out much about him if he never said anything. So, around the trunk, he dashed for the portal. There was no time for resolve, no way to know if this is what he wanted or not. He tugged on his fur jacket hood, and--
Hello, creepy. He charged, only to fall down the steps of what appeared to be a church. Thankfully, he ran too fast to get caught and really hit the steps, but he landed at the base as rough as his speed entailed, and knocked the breath out of him until he regained it, and inhaled desperately. As he rolled back upside, and coughed a few times before he stood up. The weather wasn't at all what he anticipated, and so he dropped the coat immediately, and folded it neatly into his pack. Who'd want to suffocate in that all day? But he looked at where he'd come from, only to find the doors of the church, and then looked to the high and low road, only to see houses, most of them with an array of broken windows, open doors, open windows, open broken windows....you get the idea. It looked as though there had been some desperation to get out of said houses. But what for? It was a quaint town, and obviously had the money to build a church. Something must have chased them out then.
Asra ascended the steps of the church, and giggled to himself. He wondered if all that desperation had been to get within its doors. He also wondered which god they prayed unto. His hand rested on the door, and weighed whether or not to open it. It was only a church, so why'd he feel so afraid? His head rested on its frame, as he tried to bring himself to open it, to no avail. If he searched the town, he was afraid he might find what chased these people out. But he also feared they were inside the church, a place of respite, and would attack any stranger on sight. But, on the other hand, it was after all, a place of respite. He could set up here, though he probably wouldn't want to. To get a head start in the world, he might just want to explore the town.
But his hand, tired of the wait, twisted the handle and pushed inwards, quietly. He was thankful that he hadn't brought a knife, he wanted to look defenseless if possible. He called out, "Hello?"
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