The ground is soft under me. The new boots hold my feet in warmth and comfort. The sound of my feather cloak against my traveling clothes drowns out all else. It is only when I stop to look around, do I hear my breathing, and a softly sibilant hiss.
The ash settles lightly on my covered head and shoulders. It has been settling from the sky for several days now. Or so my attempts to find solid ground tell me. I swish away loose ash to find not so loose ash. I scrape away the not so loose ash to find suddenly compacted ash. The compacted ash flakes out at a firm kick. For the past two days, I surmise, it has been dry with settling ash. There was rain. And before the rain, there was more settling ash.
The air has a cinder taste to it, but not wood. I am reminded of the scent of heated stones in a firepit. I look around the landscape again. I see no built structures. No trees. No foliage. Just gentle rolls of a flat landscape. The ash is falling everywhere. I can’t see more than a mile in any direction. I don’t know if there are mountains around. Or if any of those mountains are an active volcano.
The falling ash suddenly shifts as a breeze moves through the area. I look up and see a hint of cloud structure. It looks like large ripples in the sky.
I am reminded of Montserrat. If the ash has been falling steadily for weeks, I could be dozens of feet above what was originally here. But I am not here as a Boneyard Raven. I am here as Weaver Far-Traveled. Nothing calls me. Nothing answers my call.
There is only the falling ash, the smell of hot stone, and me.
I turn to see my footprints. The ash is slowly filling them up. I turn away from them and look forward relative to my position. I see no landmarks. But I do see variations in the land. No, the ash has not been falling for weeks, not here. Or the gentle rise and fall of the ground would be obscured.
Where water flows, civilizations follow. I started walking again, following the barely detectable contours of the land. If I find a creek, I’ll follow that.
Before me, the ash fell gently. Behind me, the ash erased my presence. Around me was the sound of my cloak against my clothes, and a softly sibilant hiss.