Breathless, she collapsed. She beheld her hands before her on the pavement; they were blue, bruised and numb. Pattering, the rain struck her back, dripped down her hair and caused little ripples in the puddles that surrounded her. She was on her knees: torn by the rough pavement. Around her there was no one; not a living being passed by on the streets. Alone. Companion by companion had deserted her. Now upon her knees she sank; to her unfeeling hands she leaned.     

A single road plowed through the village. This road carried news, letters, gossip, friends, family, and—at least that day—two wanderers. One was older than the other, and they kept to the side of the road as they passed through, neither going further in nor wholly leaving it.
The older man was a middling person: middling height and build, plain, middling sort of features, and probably middle-aged. He attracted no attention, but the younger stood out.

**Part eight, and we're not quite at the end yet. Enjoy.**