Mossberg Twist-Whisker hammered the last plank into place on his welcome station. The small wooden booth stood at the edge of a dusty crossroads in Pog. His green beard swayed as he stepped back to admire his work. This was just the beginning. He dreamed of turning this simple station into a thriving hub where travelers would stop, rest, and taste his famous hard cider. Someday, folks from every corner of Pog would know his name and his brew. He pulled a wrinkled sketch from his pocket and unfolded it carefully. The drawing showed a grand market hall with twisted roots forming the walls and wildflowers growing between them. A massive wooden apple sat on top of the roof like a crown. Mossberg traced his finger over the lines. This Crab-Apple Cider Hall would replace his tiny booth. Inside, long tables would fill with travelers sharing stories and mugs of his brew. He folded the paper and tucked it back in his pocket. The welcome station was done, but his real work was just starting. Behind the booth sat a strange contraption covered with a burlap tarp. Mossberg pulled the cloth away and grinned. The Cactus Apple Hard Cider Cookerator gleamed in the afternoon light. Spiky metal bars curved around a wooden barrel, forming a press that could crush apples into juice. The juice would flow into the large fermentation tank below. He'd built it himself from scrap metal and old barrels. Now he just needed apples and time. The machine would turn fruit into the cider that would bring people to his door. He ran his hand along the cool metal. The Crab-Apple Cider Hall would take months to build, but he could start brewing today. His dream was already taking shape, one barrel at a time. But travelers needed to find him first. Mossberg grabbed a wooden post and a bundle of rope from behind the booth. He carried them down the crossroads and planted the post deep in the ground. The Rustic Apple Spinner Sign went up next. The bright apple shape caught the breeze and spun slowly on its rope. The rickety contraption wobbled and creaked, but it worked. Anyone passing through would see it and follow the path to his station. Mossberg wiped dust from his hands and looked back at his welcome station. The booth stood ready. The cookerator waited for apples. The spinner would guide travelers to his door. His cider would do the rest.