{-…-}

  They were always a wandering group of people. Their home was each other; their lands only temporary; their belongings whatever they could efficiently carry on their packs. Of course, there were many negatives to their nomadic lifestyle—they were always leaving things behind, never able to hold onto much or stay in one place for too long. But it wasn’t like their time spent was ultimately wasted, for they had a purpose.

  There was a river that spanned thousands of villages, cities, nations—that touched each part of the land’s geography, from the mountains, to the seas, to the plains, to the deserts, and beyond. It flowed forever onward, with no clear ending or beginning. The nomads had spent many generations following it, for their ancestors had done it, and had tales of triumph and sorrow alike to tell from it. It gave them blessings and, sometimes, took it away.

  But the only way to know what truly awaited them—what stories they would be able to share with their future kin—was by following it.

  “What do you think happened here, Mama?” The little boy tugged on his mother’s sleeve, and with the other hand pointed to the town they were passing. “They look sad. Like something happened.”

  The boy’s words echoed through the nomads, sparking those who had not already slowed down to appreciate the sights to do so. After all, there were some among them that tried to rush, even if the elders and several others reminded them that they will learn and experience nothing if they never slow down. It was usually children like the boy who called attention to something else within the world—a reminder not to dwell too deeply, nor too little.

  The boy’s mother followed his gaze to the town. It was not in shambles, not quite in the way that they’d seen other places; rather, it was just… disheartening. Not completely wrong or destroyed, but just enough to make it seem so empty. Seeing it, she shook her head. “I supposed it was someone who didn’t know what it meant to move on.”

  “What does that mean?” He brought all of his attention to her, along with sparking the interest of a few other kids nearby. “Did they do something bad?”

  “Perhaps they did. But they could’ve done something good, too. Something that they were proud of, that they didn’t want to be forgotten or left out. Maybe they held onto something too tightly, until this happened—though whether or not it was a good or bad thing, we won’t ever know. We weren’t there when it happened.”

  “What would we have done if we were?”

  She shook her head. “Do you remember what the elders have always told us? There’s no point in dwelling in what had happened before we came. There’s nothing anyone can do to change what has already happened.”

  “Then there’s nothing..?”

  “Partially, yes. There truly is nothing to be done about what you see right now. As unfortunate as it is, this is the state of it, and there’s no way to reverse it. But there are still ways to move forward. I’m sure that, as these people see us following the river, they will remember that there is still a way forward. And from there, I believe that they will find the right way on their own.”

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  “That’s it..?”

  “We were not a part of the beginning of this, and it would not be our place to enter it now. The only thing we can do is move on, and hope that they find the way on their own.”

  After that, she motioned for the boy to keep walking. It seemed that, at that moment, all of the nomads turned their heads away from the town. But there was more than just apathy—there were mumbles, wishes that the people down below will one day understand what the nomads did.

  And then they moved on.

  They traveled far from the place, enough so that the town was nothing more than a distant memory. They might not ever see it again in their lifetimes, given the winding nature of the river; that was simply a fact that they accepted. There were some places, like that town, where the fact was easy to understand. After all, there was nothing they could do for something they were not a part of, and staying would not have changed things. When things were bad, it was easier to forget about them. To leave them behind.

  But sometimes, there were things that they wanted to keep with them, as the boy would soon learn.

  He scooped up a turtle off of the ground, so that he’d be able to show it to all of his friends.

  “Isn’t it neat?” he prompted. He made sure to be careful with it, though perhaps he was still treating it a bit too roughly; it nipped at his fingers, but he simply took that to mean it wanted to play. “We haven’t been to an area with a lot of these before! And they’re everywhere here! Do any of you want a turn holding it?”

  “Ooh! Yes!” Each of the kids opened their hands to accept it and, for a moment, the boy felt powerful—they may have been thinking about the turtle, but he was the one who had it, after all.

  Though it didn’t last long, as his mother looked over her shoulder to see what they were doing. “You should put it back, dear. It’s supposed to stay here, in this part of the river. We shouldn’t take it with us any further.”

  “But isn’t it pretty, Mama?” he asked, showing it to her. “We could take the one with us, couldn’t we? We’ll take extra good care of it! The nomads will be like its new family!”

  The other kids showed their agreement.

  His mother, however, took the turtle from his hands. She patted its head with her finger before she stopped and knelt down to sit it by the river. It gave one last look up at them—as if to say goodbye—before heading into the water and swimming to the other side of the river.

  “We can’t separate it from its true family,” she said. “It needs to be with creatures like it if it’s going to have a peaceful life. It wasn’t meant to travel with us, so we have to let it go.”

  “Okay…” The boy tried to watch the turtle as long as he could, before it disappeared behind a bush and he could no longer walk so slow.

  Soon, the nomads had traveled far from that area, towards many new things that the boy had never experienced before. There were little pieces of all of them he wished they could bring with them; his mother, however, always reminded her where their place was. Instead, she showed him how to carve little trinkets, so that the memories of these places could be preserved. He created stories to go along with them, too—tales that he shared with the whole tribe, and that will be passed down through his own children.

  At first, days passed; weeks; months; years… finally, decades. The boy had grown into a man, and made a family. He taught his children all of the lessons his mother had taught him, and watched as they learned about the world for themselves.

  There were many things to be afraid of—what they were about to encounter, what they’d already seen, what they were seeing now… But it was alright. As long as they followed the river, they would triumph over anything. Some things might make it harder to move on, or even make them wish that they could turn back, but they had to keep going. That’s the only way that things were going to get better, in the end. The only way that they could live a life that they could be proud of.

  And they made sure to tell their stories about the ever-flowing river, in hopes that others might find the will to venture into the unknown for a hope of a better future.

  may be a longer pause between this and the start of the next book. I've been struggling to keep up with the backlog of any of my projects and I don't want to lose that buffer and either need to go on hiatus mid-book or force myself to finish chapters quickly. But there will still be updates! Just like last time I went on a mini-hiatus, I'll upload some character stuff every week until I'm comfortable with the amount of backlog I have again.