Dim red light filtered through the branches of elm trees and the overhanging of willows, brown leaves curled at their bases and scattered across the cobbled street. In London, it would be September, smoke curdling from red brick chimneys and the smell of sweet meats drifting in from Camden and Covent Garden.
In the trading village of Farlas, the season was likewise autumnal. The leaves of summer had turned inward and fallen and the horse-chestnut trees, once heavy with conkers were now barren. Loud Ghost appreciated the change in environment, not because he had grown weary of the sites and sounds of London but rather because, beneath the shadow of those ancient elms that lined the dirt path leading toward the small village, the young boy felt a sense of nostalgia that was not present in day-to-day London life.
Trudging wearily up the dirt path and towards the silent village, the great lake to his left still home to the graceful Su Shuang before it froze over and the birds took flight in search of warmer climates, he felt once more at peace.