Once again the sun was setting towards the dry plains to the west. Once again the merchants halted their line of camels, tethered and fed them, and made camp for themselves. They lit fires, pitched tents, prepared food, and settled in to pass the lengthening autumn night. They had just crossed the high pass. In two days they would reach the verdant valleys to the east and in two more the first of their trading cities. This was the last time they would cross the high pass this year and they were relieved to be blessed with good weather for the passage. In years previous, many had spent days or weeks waiting for this pass to open.
The merchants huddled in the tent, ate and joked, and finally called for a story from the stranger traveling with them. “You have traveled as far as we,” they said, “but over different roads. Tell us of the strange things you’ve seen.”
“It’s true,” the stranger answered, “I’ve traveled many roads, and seen many strange things. But now that we’re over the pass I’ll tell you about one of the strangest things ever to befall me. Strangest, even though I’ve lived long and traveled far. Strangest, even though it happened when I was just a youth growing up not far from here. It’s a tale that will chill you even more than the night wind howling outside. But in the morning the wind will pass and so will your chill from my tale, for that is the way of life.”