บท 38: THE WRONG FOOT

The vehicle smoothly zoomed through the country roads, the wind tousling his hair as he gazed out the window. The open road stretched out before them like an open invitation. The verdant landscape rolled by and he glanced at the patchwork of rolling hills. Towering trees, their branches swaying gently, dotted the horizon and cast dappled shadows on the weathered asphalt.

Luciano sank deeper into the plush leather seat, feeling the hum of the engine beneath him. He caught a farmer tending to his fields and smaller mortals playing in a sun dappled meadow. The wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of wildflowers and freshly turned earth. The cool breeze caressed his face and he breathed in deeply, savouring the crisp air.

He could not help but feel as though he was flying again.