Rangapara was a small village. The dusty streets crossed in the middle. The streets leading to the town center were wide enough, but all unpaved. In fact, the roads leading to Ranga (as the inhabitants called their home) were all unpaved. Stone was something of a rarity this far from the mountains to the north. Moats of early dawn played in the dust as if guardian angels were waking alongside the sleepy villagers. Kavi smiled at the dancing motes, then looked long and hard down the east-west. East was to the heart of the empire, east was to the dawn, and no one had ever been very far east. West led to the jungle and the unknown. North and south were fields scattered between patches of hardwoods or palms. “Definitely more trees than people in direction you wonder,” thought Kavi.
