They had stopped to fill their bottles from the well beneath the willow. The town was two ridges away and they had not intended to carry on walking, but the man who sold them empanadas had persuaded them otherwise. The empanadas were hot and salty and spilled grease down their wrists, and the sun was hot and their skin was salty, and the green-hooded man had told them to bear right at the burnt signpost.
So they walked. And always, after that, were close to the end – but wherever they stopped was a green-hooded man and the lure of further.