I TOOK A LIL' JOURNEY TO THE UNKNOWN

There was an exhaustion sewn deep into his bones by time, a weariness that the mute man hadn't expected in years. Time had taken many things from the man, too many for him to be too welcoming of strangers and the troubles that brought them forth. He could not make sense of the weariness in his bones, so lost in his duties for the last year or so that his purpose had all but left him. Some part of him yearned for the joy of younger days and years, a sense of life in every movement. Today, he was burdened down by so many things he knew not how to handle. What he wouldn't give to throw it all away and travel the lands again, with little concern for what might get messed up in his travels. He wished so fervently to be free, to decide his own path again.

It had been months now, since the once tied-down merchant shed his memories in search of fresh beginnings, leaving the pains behind. He had left the lands he had settled long before, leaving the memories of a pained childhood and adulthood, the sole survivor of his own blood and kin, a widower and a servant of the Gods. Or so it had been. The Dark Smith was on the move, leaving behind the pains and misery of the life he had known for so long, the life he had once before cherished. He would start anew, a brand new tale to keep when the tale he had led had abandoned him. He was never truly alone, not so long as the ghost of his mentor haunted him with vivaciousness. Poor thing, that, being able to see and hear the spirits of the dead. It was an ability he had long learned to ignore, to move on with despite its interferences.

Time now found the Smith, a tired mess of a traveler seeking shelter under a weeping willow, the scent of other animals long stale, suggesting he was alone in the area save for the birds and prey animals. His back and body ached for the long day's travel, carrying the weight of his bags had made him sore and raw in some spots and parts.

Standing now between the twisted roots of the willow, easing the weight of the bags from his tender shoulders with a deep breath and sigh of relief. It felt good to be free of the weight, the raw skin stinging at the brush of air, the fur rubbed down to skin in the bonier places. He would have to settle here for some time to let his pains heal, and perhaps he could sell to passing creatures, sell off some of the heavier items in his packs. Looking around, he made a mental list of what he would need to get comfortable and settle in for a while.

His waterskin was empty, and the telltale whisper of water over rocks nearby gave hope of drink and if he was lucky, food and bath. He was objectively filthy and the only thing that smelt nice about the gray tom was the mane of yellow roses that seemed to sprout from nothing about his neck. Crouching to grab his waterskin, the wanderer would leave the shelter of the willow and descend a slight hill, tracing the sound of where to its source. Before his paws lay a stream, rich plants growing along its edges and the freshness of the water making the air itself smell nearly delightful. Trodding to the water, aching and cracked pads stinging at the caress of pebbles, the chill of the water be-lying the season and giving Aesior cause to shiver as he stuck his paws into the weak current closest to the shores. There he stood, gathering water in the waterskin and letting his hurting paws cool before he would dare attempt to wade in further. Head tipping up the great blue and vast sky, a sense of peace and warmth encompassing him. Ear twitching now at what he thought was a voice, gaze changing to glance the horizon.

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