A couple of months ago a very kind person let me start a story for her. I thank Cameron Garriepy for that, and you can read about it back on my post titled Story Circles and Lines. Back then another kind and talented person, Kate Shrewsday, took up my story and continued it, and then others took up the call after her. You can read all those parts of the story circle on Cameron’s blog starting with Kate’s second part. All of that is great and I really admire those who followed up, but I felt empty. Empty because although others may have completed the story, I had not completed my story.
And that is where this Part II comes in. I really hesitate to do this because I don’t want to diminish in any way what Kate and the other folks did. But I feel that I need to complete my story, and there are either three or four more parts to that story. So what we have here is the second part. The other ones will hopefully be coming very soon, but for now you have Part I on Cameron’s site and Part II here. Oh, and when they are all done I will republish them all together. But that is later. For now, without further rambling …
A Line Runs Round The World – Part II
There was smoke blowing in from the south west, and the smell of battle. I could tell that it was a battle and not just some other sort of fire because the smoke contained the distinct scent of blood and hot metal. Metal that was being used and push beyond its breaking point in a race for survival. The odor of exhausted metal, if there was such a thing. And that smoke blowing in brought no comfort.
This was around the middle of my fifth year walking, and I was more often than not overlooked by those not on the path whether they were looking directly at me or not. At first I was surprised that it didn’t matter if I walked past soldier or civilian, guard or gardener they reacted, or failed to react to me in exactly the same way. I never touched these outsiders for why should I? What did they have to offer me? Money did me no good for I just took what I wanted, which wasn’t much. And besides that, I had left my wallet behind me. So far back. How far? I took it out of my pocket while sitting on a bench, back when I still stopped to rest, took it out and left it sitting on that bench. My wallet with what little money I had, what little papers there were that said who I was and why I was. It may be there still.
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