wind

There used to be a kingdom here--or, no, they wouldn't have used that word. But there was something so much more than a handful of villages trading with each other. Someone built these roads, and maintained them; more than a few brave souls travelled them. And now it's just ruins, lost and overgrown; and I've always felt compelled to explore those lost places, to learn about the world we lost. Or maybe compelled isn't strong enough. Driven, perhaps? The echoes that linger in these old places call to me.

My companion tells me that where she's from, there's a coming of age ritual where a young person will take the surname Windtossed and go out into the world. Not everyone goes through the ritual--there are plenty who are happy to work on the family farm, or learn a trade, or otherwise stay with the clan--but any who feel so called are encouraged to go chase the wind. It's nice to imagine what it would have been like if my family and my hometown had encouraged my journeys rather than begging me to stay because they don't believe I can take care of myself.

Though we've been travelling together for a while now, my companion won't talk about her own wanderings; I'm left to imagine why she follows me, where she's from, who she really is. But she believes in me, and she has saved my life more times than I could count. And every morning when I wake up she's still there, standing watch, spear in hand, hair and cloak being tossed by the wind. A wanderer couldn't ask for a better companion.