Quote:
You awaken on a briskly-cold but brightly sunny day on a rocky slope. The vegetation is sparse and the wind is biting, but the air is invigoratingly fresh. If you are a native Totoma, you recognize this as the foothills of your homeland. A strange, smooth-sided tower of black stone rises in the distance. Native Totoma may or may not recognize it as a landmark.
He stood, one leg poised mid-step and his body shivering with a cold gust of wind that shrieked down across the rocks. The sun helped lessen the chill and Journey soon realised that it wasn’t truly the weather that was making his body quiver, but this place.You’re so close.
He heart sung with the knowledge.
The Acha stumbled forward, suddenly graceless in his haste. In his dreams he always sought it, always strived forward. There was no other way from him to go. Forward, forward, upwards. It had called him from the desert and into the Swamp and now he was here.
It didn’t matter that his last memory was of the Swamp and the mud and farewell to his family, again, it was always a goodbye. This was where he was meant to be.
… or almost.
Journey knew he needed to go further. Up where the clouds touched the earth and the cold sunk straight into your bones.
So he began to move, slowly regaining proper use of his still shaking limbs.
As he climbed the rocky slope, he finally aught a glimpse of the tower and seeing it was like a physical blow. He shifted his course towards it and as soon as he’d reached level ground, began to run. There was no point in taking a slow approach. He feared that any second now he would suddenly find himself back in the Swamp.
The strange tower beckoned and he heeded the call.
It was only when he was two Acha lengths away that he skidded to a halt and caught his breath. The wanderer marvelled, staring up at the smooth rock. He trembled with pure emotion as he stepped forward, touching his nose carefully to the black surface.
Nothing happened.
He stood there, dragging the chill air into his lungs and waited.
Journey closed his eyes and murmured soft words, gentle pleas for understanding, for an end to the constant need that drove him on. These were the words he uttered when his legs ached and his fatigued body could not manage one more step, when his eyelids drooped and all he could taste was the sticky spit in his mouth and gritty dust.
Standing there he received no answer, just more wind and more cold as the sun disappeared momentarily behind a cloud.
Journey stepped back and nodded his head.
“Very well,” he said and smiled a weary smile. “Let’s continue.”
The Acha bowed low before the towering black stone and then stepped around it, towards the mountain where his future awaited. Or to his death, as he sometimes surmised. The thought didn't bother him.
From his birth long ago in the desert to now, it would be a relief to finally rest. When his body would finally take him no further, he would sink down into the snow and soon enough would feel nothing at all.
Journey didn't look back as he walked further into the Totoma lands, seeking his destiny and praying he would not wake.
