The midday sun hung high in the sky, casting shadows that stretched across the cracked earth like long, twisting ribbons. Despite the warmth, the Wanderer felt a persistent chill in his bones—the aftertaste of too many lonely nights under cold stars. The lantern in his hand glowed its usual steady light, even in the brightness of midday, as if it were indifferent to the sun’s overshadowing glare.

  He came upon a small, half-forgotten settlement—no more than three or four huts arranged around a central well. The huts were modest, built from sun-baked clay, and their thatched roofs drooped from years of neglect. Wind-scattered bits of straw and debris lined the dusty streets. An air of stillness cloaked the place, as if the inhabitants had either moved on or were too weary to notice a wanderer passing by.

  Yet as he walked between the huts, something flickered at the corner of his vision—a small figure darting into a patch of shadow. The Wanderer paused, lifting the lantern slightly, and saw a child hunched behind a low wall. The child’s gaze was fixed on the ground, where shadows from the rooftops formed intricate patterns. He— or she, it was hard to tell at first—moved slowly along these outlines, stepping carefully from one dark shape to another as though playing a secret game.

  Curiosity piqued, the Wanderer approached, mindful not to startle the child. “Hello,” he said in a quiet, gentle tone.

  The child glanced up. Big, round eyes blinked at him before darting back down to the ground. “I’m following them,” the child explained, pointing at the shifting shadows with a small hand.

  “Following the shadows?” the Wanderer asked, setting the lantern down at his feet. “Where do they lead?”

  The child shrugged, a shy smile tugging at the corners of their mouth. “They move when I move. Sometimes it feels like they’re alive.” A few steps away, the child pointed to a larger patch of darkness cast by the well’s stone lip. “Look, it’s always changing shape.”

  True enough, the sun’s slow movement across the sky caused the shadow to lengthen or contract in subtle increments. The child hopped onto the shadow, giggling at how it seemed to dance under their feet.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  The Wanderer felt a pang of wistfulness at the sight. When was the last time he’d had the freedom or inclination to play in any sense of the word? A memory flickered—himself as a child, chasing his own shadow across a meadow, blissfully ignorant of grand destinies and never-ending roads.

  “Where are you going?” the child asked suddenly, stopping mid-hop. Their eyes darted to the lantern. “I saw that light from far away. It’s not even dark, but it’s shining like a star.”

  “I’m…not entirely sure,” the Wanderer admitted. Honesty felt liberating, if a bit unsettling. “I travel from place to place, hoping to find something—though I don’t quite know what it is yet.”

  The child tilted their head, curious. “What’s at the end of the road?”

  The Wanderer couldn’t help but let out a faint laugh, colored by both amusement and regret. “That’s the question I’ve been asking for a long time. I used to believe I’d find some great treasure or answer.” He cast a glance at the lantern’s unwavering flame. “But now, I’m wondering if the road ends only when I decide I’ve gone far enough.”

  The child blinked, considering this. Then, with the boundless optimism only children seem to have, they offered, “Maybe you should just pick a shadow and follow it. Shadows end somewhere, too.”

  A gentle breeze rustled the thatch roofs, sending a tumbleweed rolling across the dusty path. The Wanderer closed his eyes for a moment, letting the child’s innocent words settle. Could it really be that simple? Choose a direction. Choose a purpose. Follow it until the light shifts and a new shape emerges.

  “Maybe you’re right,” he said softly. Stooping down, he picked up the lantern and turned back to the child. “Thank you.”

  Before the child could answer, a distant voice called out—a woman’s voice, beckoning them inside for a midday meal. The child waved at the Wanderer, then darted off toward the hut, leaving him alone once more in the quiet settlement.

  Yet the hush now felt less suffocating, the emptiness less forlorn. What’s at the end of the road? The child’s question echoed in his mind. For all his searching, he had rarely been asked something so direct. And for the first time, the notion that perhaps he would choose the road’s end—and what it meant—kindled an unexpected sense of freedom.

  He shifted the lantern to his other hand, feeling its familiar weight, and set off toward the settlement’s far edge. The shadows around him lengthened and shifted in the sun, and he found himself noting their shapes with a faint smile. Maybe he wouldn’t chase them like the child did—but he would keep the spirit of that game in his heart, allowing curiosity and wonder to guide him to whatever might lie ahead.