The one traveling light

The feeling of falling at every step, the speed, the air on the face. He ran down the mountainside, from tree to tree - catch, push away, catch, push away, until he crashed into the level land, fell to the grass panting. There, on the ground, kneeling he looked up into the sky, eyes locked in the blue. He let himself fall to his back there, and watched. Clouds traveling, bound by the high winds. Beautiful. So empty. Time passed, how much? The light had dimmed and his stomach began to growl, reminding him the lack of food. He hadn't taken many provisions, nature provides, he had thought. Always has. He got up to his knees and had a look around. Some roots, bulbs, yes, those dark greenish big pointy leaves over there by the big rock, definitely juicy sweet bulbs. The namegivers had been true and humble - honeyroot they had called it. And then he remembered.. out of water. These lands are dry, no lakes nor rivers. Just grass. His flask had been empty since morning. "Better find a village" and after a short thought, "before it gets too dark". People around here are a bit suspicious about the dark and those who roam in the dark. Any mark, any ... oh, there! A border-marking on the rock, near the honeyroot. Village boundary, thus a village should be near. And so there is, smoke and where is smoke, there is a hearth. He got up, dug up the honeyroot, rubbed it clean with his hand and grass and ate it fast, big bites, then wiped his mouth dry with his sleeve. Finished, time to move on.