The old trade road hurtled down the arid mountainside, unraveling like a silk ribbon knocked from a teetering merchant cart. It looped wide, careening out to the perilous edge of dusty cliffs, then snagged on the crumbling rocks and folded in on itself, over and over, until it disappeared into the blanketing green valley far below.
But the golden road continued to unwind beneath the leafy canopy. It trailed over hills, dipped into streams and swung around massive moss-covered trunks. Ancient trees arched overhead, intertwining their limbs. Their deep green shadows softened the gravelly edges of the old road.
By this time of year, dusty sandals should have tamped a well-worn path down the center. Carts should have been bobbing and swaying through it's ruts. And the forest birds should have been chattering indignantly at the relentless shuffle and clang of the interlopers.
But neither weary merchants nor rattling carts could be found in the suffocating summer heat. Even the birds seemed to be a memory. Save for a warm breeze rippling through the trees now and then, the air was heavy and soundless.
The unseasonable temperatures had driven all creatures away from the old trade road — all except them.