All was calm. The sun slowly sinking through the dust-laden sky as a caravan steadily crossed through arid fields. It had been hours since its initial departure, but the wagon simply rolled along at a leisurely pace. There was no need to rush. No sense in blazing forward.<br/><br/>Glancing into the wagon, the lone driver took stock of his supplies. To the back-left lay an old wooden chest, where earnings were stored at the end of each day. A simple ritual; but one kept from prying eyes. Fortune was never built to last, so it always seemed wise to take steps to prolong it. In service of this, the chest's top compartment housed a small portion of the wealth hidden below. A sort of consolation prize for any thief who made it past the lock...and his vigilance. In the middle sat a trunk of cedarwood, storing a small number of personal effects. And to the very right, rested a bright red apple, couched in the corner - slowly, but surely, rotting away.<br/><br/>Supper was clearly to be found elsewhere, tonight. Facing forward once more, the driver looked on as dawn brought a blanket of shade over the scorching land. A doubtlessly joyous reprieve for both him and his horses. But after a moment's indulgence, he raced them down the now darkening road. The time for leisure was nearing its end, and the goal in danger of slipping away.<br/><br/>By the time night truly claimed its place, the wagon had just managed to arrive at its destination, its driver hurriedly scanning the city for somewhere to rest and refuel.