Polona

The Wanderer’s Hearth stood beside a clear mountain stream, its waters running cold and bright from the ice-capped peaks beyond the steppes. The old trail that led here had been unforgiving—rocky, uneven, and carved by years of wind and neglect. The wagon’s enchanted wheels had endured the climb, though not without protest, and the ride had been slow-going across the battered stone. Still, the stream offered fresh water and a steady clearing, and so you chose to set up shop.

As the owner of the Wanderer’s Hearth, your role was simple but deliberate: provide warmth, shelter, and good food wherever the road allowed. The wagon unfolded into its familiar form—walls lowering into sturdy tables, lanterns hung from carved corners, chairs set carefully into place. Travelers might not pass often along this forgotten stretch of steppe, but that had never stopped you before. Where the Hearth stood, hospitality followed.

The last chair slid neatly beneath its fold-out table when the sound reached you—measured, rhythmic, unmistakable. Hooves striking stone. The echo carried sharply across the bare rock faces that framed the stream, steady and purposeful. The sound did not falter over the uneven terrain. It grew closer.

A centaur crested the rise beyond the trail, chestnut flanks gleaming faintly in the mountain light. She trotted down with confident ease despite the jagged footing, auburn hair tousled from travel and a twine-wrapped parcel secured under one arm. A faint sheen of sweat darkened her coat from the climb, and though slightly winded, her grin was bright and professional. She slowed as she approached the Hearth, lifting the parcel forward. "Good morning! Got a parcel for one Master CraveU user. For you!"