Luneshale Pass which door do we open?

a silhouette pierced the rosy haze, wading through the sparse meadow water. qiao mused on the irony of how often she met travelers at water’s edge. perhaps it was that water was the life giver — the network that connected all roads. 

he was lean with travel. young. she wondered if he hailed from the tribe, but she scented no trademark of theirs on his wispy fur. i would not drink the water, she intoned with regretfulness. the natives poison it.