The Pilgrimage

The White Mage walked out of his village in his mouth, a small biscuit the shaped of a bird. He bit into it as he waved back to the Elves who he had saved. He could not fight fate, it was something he had become accustomed to now. He walked for a few hours, passing through a large forest, the cobblestone road now becoming a dirt trail. He followed it further until he saw a trader whose two horses seemed to have trouble pulling a wagon. "What's wrong sir?" He asked, looking at the bombastically dressed horseman. The man informed him of how his horses were attacked by wolves, he was able to fend them off but one of his horses was wounded and could not move. Luka walked up, gently brushing his hand through the horse's mane. "Abyen korith veniz pronci." He said in an incantation like manner, he held his scepter up to the multiple wounds. At first, it seemed like a small glow appeared on the wound. He extended his hand out with an open palm towards it, and began to repeat doing so until it closed. The trader was grateful, wondering how Luka was able to heal a the horse so quickly. The mage let out a forced laugh, saying it was a family trick. Now with the help of the traveler and his wagon, he was able to find a way from this continent to the next.