It didn't take long for Bast to find the nest where the bandit had taken his loot. Two baskets of fruit. That's what this man had killed two people for, and now Bast had killed him.

She looked through the rest of his belongings, he didn't have much of anything else, except for a map on the wall that showed the surrounding area. There was a little town further up the mountain on the opposite slope. Maybe she would check it out and find someone to give the fruit to.

No sense letting it go to waste.

Placing the basket on her hip, Bast began to walk down from the now empty ruins and towards where the trail leading to the town should be. She found the woods on this mountain extremely pleasant and the wildflowers blooming nearby gave the entire area a fragrance like the world was still okay.

Life, nature, and whatever was still going on, and everything might just be okay given enough time.

The thought gave her some peace, she would like to build a house somewhere like this in the future, settle down and have a little fish pond like the one at her fathers house. A simple life was something to cherish when it had been taken.

Another part of her knew that she could never go back. Her life was on a different path now and it wasn't something she could walk away from.

Eventually she found the well worn footpath, leading out from the small alpine valley and onto the opposite slope of the mountain. From the ridge above, she could see twenty or so semi-solidly built structures. They looked new and were more of a frontier type house than anything that would have been built prior to the shattering.

“A new city,” Bast said quietly.

Though it wasn't big enough to be that, it was barely even a village. Still the thought of people banding together to build something new was inspiring.

She continued down the trail and passed several other farmers along the way. Many of them were carrying fruit into the village. It was probably where the couple she found was heading when they had been killed. Bast spotted a pair of children idly throwing rocks, as children always have done and will always continue to do no matter the circumstances, and gave each of them a basket of fruit. The children smiled and began eating them on the spot.

Bast began to walk away but before she did, she turned and asked, “What is this place called?”

“Hope,” answered the little girl.

Hope. She paused and smiled and continued down to what looked to be a small town square.

It must have been market day in the little town of Hope, as the one street was packed with farmers, weavers, and all the trades for an agricultural society and town. Bast was amazed at how quickly they had abandoned the more modern conveniences and returned to a life more natural. The smell of fruit and flowers continued to waft in the air, and it was enticing enough, she removed her helmet to smell it for herself.

Across the street from where she was standing was a small saloon with a sign that read ‘Fresh Cider’,  Bast walked toward it and pushed open the door.