12

Many years later the wanderer sat down in the familiar shade of an apple tree to escape the sun. The landscape around him painted a picture of a familiar, quiet panic, that was accompanied by a quiet but likewise familiar screech.

The trees bent willingly to the light breeze and the grass was marked by the footsteps of those before him. In the distance, a few rolling hills willfully blocked the view. The path was as ugly as always, stretching through the landscape like an old scar.

The wanderer was pulled out of his thoughts by Avemortis. Not for the first time he wondered what that name even meant. And if it even was better to have a name with an unknown meaning than no name.

No, he corrected himself, just because I don't know the meaning doesn't mean there isn't somebody out there that does.

As he ate his lunch in silence, the wanderer tried to remember his dreams of last night.

A wide collection of images popped into his head. A fire, a yellow bench, the smell of lavender, and a mysterious-looking gate.

He wondered how they all could have been connected. Was this a cry from a forgotten past or a vision of his future? He couldn't tell.

Still lost in thought he finished his meal, refilled his provision bag, and continued to follow his guide, the path, across the landscape.