165: Stumble; the first time I say you
18th Century, Oxford, Britain.
Clouds rolled around in the sky, fleeting like time slipping away from human hands as the thin grains of golden sand would.
Sun shone down on the land below, neither too bright nor too soft. Winds blew in a gentle breeze as most men toiled on the soil of their forefathers whilst the privileged ones, inheriting the lands of those before them, their merits and their sins, hid away inside the walls of their comforting manors.
Toil and toil away all of your days and you shall earn enough to fill the stomach of your wife and children that weep behind you.
On the mud roads stretching long and thin, horses and carriages pushed by, blowing dust as they went, curtains pulled shut and people resting within hidden away from prying eyes.