It was bright summer afternoon on the dirt road. The air was dry and there was little to no breeze. The sun beamed down on the back of Seb’s neck and was starting to burn. With the heat and the weight of his backpack, Seb was starting to wish he had never bothered leaving Bowerstone this morning. As Seb contemplated where his travels would take him this week, he came to a fork in the road. There was an old sign post, barely standing upright, worn by years of weather and rot. It had an arrow pointing left and right. The right was marked “Gibbet Woods” and the left “Farna”.