Emilio Danoza was soaked to the skin.
He shivered miserably as icy rivulets of rain coursed down the back of his neck, filling his boots, finding the chinks in his ancient oilskins.
Shelter, he thought, pushing determinedly into the raging darkness of the night, the wind assailing him with invisible hands, stalling his progress, making him stumble. Shelter and warmth‚ that was what Emilio longed for as he ploughed ahead, his teeth chattering, his bones rattling. The desire to eat had left him days ago, displaced first by nausea, then vomiting and diarrhoea. A dry bed to sleep in was his driving hunger now.
As if in answer to his thoughts, lightning lanced across the sky, illuminating a small thatched building in the distance: A tavern, bright and inviting. Jubilant, he grinned, rain batting fitfully against his teeth, thunderclaps booming in his ears like celestial applause. Emilio quickened his pace, bowing his head before the storm.
After a time, he lifted his gaze. Water droplets stung his eyes, blurring his vision.
The tavern was nowhere in sight.
