Prologue

  I have already learned the true nature of this world; every single language spoken by

  all the miscreated, bid farewell to all those that I ever met, and just finished predicting

  most outcomes - not bad for someone born only a day ago.

  And now I must wait here for him, atop such a generous outcrop of stone; one so

  easily protruding from the most graceful display of running water. A creek, I think it

  is called, that much like me, seems to always be running but never getting anywhere.

  I cannot think of a better example of the flow of time and design working perfectly

  in tandem. Yet another sample of what can be expected in this world above, I suppose

  and hope; an example that for so long has dared to cross these woods that the one

  I am waiting for, sometimes calls his own.

  He should be here any moment now; my inherited memories keep assuring me

  that he comes by this exact spot every day to make his crossing, and today will be no

  exception. He will come. He will come and he will find me; he will find me, and he

  will say:

  “And who might you be?”

  After I turned around, I was greeted with a weird-looking old figure, much more so

  than I was expecting, with an uneven pair of glasses barely hanging from his slightly

  twirled nose and a long set of grey hair cascading, knot after knot, from the top of his

  head. Several pieces of mismatched armour were strapped to his tall if a bit hunched,

  body. They had been collected over a long period of time and from all kinds of sources.

  His right hand held a solid piece of armament; he tried to disguise it as a walking stick,

  but it was most definitely a good weapon. A haversack hung from his other shoulder,

  it was half open and mostly filled with all sorts of plants and a few samples of fungi.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Then I noticed behind him followed a beast of burden; great of size and with quite

  the relaxed jaw hanging under its corpulent nose. And if all the satchels covering its

  blue and green skin were not enough to define its purpose, its mellow eyes surely did

  the trick. Also, between its massive shoulders and the middle of its curved back, rested

  a large, purple saddle. One that was just big enough for two.

  “I was waiting for you,” I steadily revealed to him.

  “It would certainly seem that way.” The old man replied quite unpreoccupied,

  “Please tell me then, how is it that I am fated to find a little one such as yourself out

  here, in the middle of these woods?” He asked as he began tying that beast to the

  nearest tree.

  “I just said,” I repeated without taking my eyes from all the papers I was holding,

  “that I came here to wait for you.”

  “Quite right.” He stared at me for a moment, and then finally wetted his boots as he

  ventured into that running water to make his approach. He did so slowly and carefully,

  as to not frighten me, which caused me to smile in appreciation. All the dirt and rips

  in my mostly white clothes easily conveying to him that I had gone through quite a

  lot recently.

  “It’s alright. You can come closer.” I told him unabashedly.

  “Oh, were you writing?” He was quick to notice when close enough, “And at such a

  young age as well. Remarkable.” He then quickly followed that with a high opinion of

  my scattered drawings, before picking one up: “And what about these? Did you draw

  all of them as well?”

  “I did.”

  “I know this man...” The old man confessed, “and this woman as well.” He added as

  his eyes caught glimpse of another half-finished sketch. He picked up that one as well,

  and then held them close to each other ...

  “I know these people.” He insisted, without taking his eyes from those two pictures...