Truck Stop: A Pointless Tale
an excerpt

The farmer, whom his wife had introduced as Eduin, gestured me to enter his house. Eva had already sliced some thin pieces of ham and had them on the stove in an iron pan. The younger girl was ringing a bell on the porch of the house. "My wife's name is Eveska, and my little girl is Barba. She's calling my son Garth in from the field. Repairing fences, you know. That time of year. Sometimes I think it rains rocks in the winter."

"I'm Ase Ur-Jennan, you can call me Aser. Most pleased to meet you all." Eveska put a mug of tea before me, and cut two pieces of bread from a loaf on the back of the stove. She slathered butter over them, and then put the slices of ham on a plate with the bread. "This is too much," I told her, "but I do thank you greatly." I lifted the plate to a level above my eyes. "And I give thanks to the Life That Guides the World."

Being watched while one eats is always a bit unnerving, but I was hungry. The only distraction for the family came when the son arrived at the door. His mother rose and whispered to him who I was, how hungry I had been, and how lucky they were to have me eating their food. When I looked up at him, he smiled and waved one big hand.

Farming is hard work, yet these people were so kind, and not once did I see glances exchanged to evince regret at having to share food with a stranger, or impatience to have me in their house. Not everyone is as compassionate as they were. It's difficult to say why some people are generous, and others stingy and grasping. Perhaps it has to do with their upbringing, or the circumstances in which they find themselves. Certainly the winter past had been hard, and this family probably had little left in their larder to hold them until the first vegetables were ripe. And even though I had not yet given the requested blessing, they fussed and worried that I had not enough of anything to continue my journey, offering me a woolen sweater, a pair of shoes, some of their remaining apples from the fruit cellar, a bed for the night.

On the other hand, there was this rich giant named Gidilmi in the far northeast, who never had wayfarers or beggars knock on his door, because he had his warriors chop them into pieces if they so much set foot within the gates of his land. He cared nothing about anyone else's poverty, went about flashing his gold jewelry and tailored suits, rode in a palanquin carried by eight slaves, and bragged that there wasn't a woman giant in the whole land who could resist his advances. Greed makes for its own reward, and Gidilmi was carried off by a roc that had been attracted to his garden by the glint of the solid gold statues he was so proud of. According to the elven song that commemorates the event, the roc was hunted down by the local populace and given the key to the city.