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a worn path

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As Phoenix finally reaches the end of the staircase, she breaks through the doors and steps into the town, beginning yet another journey. She begins to make her way down the street, seeing the children play at dusk, the decorations of the festive holiday, and the sun beginning its descent. She begins her rhythmic pace. The sound of her cane echoes in the midst of the city, much like the chirping of a bird, which sings, as Phoenix walks to its beat. Phoenix sops at the window of a small store, peering in with her blue, aged eyes, she sees the paper windmill she spoke of earlier. She chuckles to herself, and continues on out of the city.
Entering the road she has so often traveled, Phoenix smells the soothing aroma of the river, and of the wood, which burns in the chimneys of the cabins. All the children have gone inside, and all that remains are the decorations and lights outside the cabins. As she passes the cabins, she remembers the dog that had attacked her earlier, and she continues with caution. As she moves on, the dog is not in sight so her worries begin to fade. Continuing down the road she reaches the swamp, and she sees the silver trees, the old cabins, and the empty, desolate fields. It is becoming late, and Phoenix feels as though her legs are in buckets of cement, chained down to the ground, and she can no longer walk.
In the near distance the wagon track appears, and Phoenix stops to rest. After a short...
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