On the Other Side of the World: Memoirs of a Ronin
Posted: Wed Jan 13, 2021 8:30 am
The caravan drove on down the road, sleepily like the beasts of burden that pulled it along. From her count, the morn marked a week since their last town. Tsukumo was hunched over, warm bodies pressed against either shoulder. Across the cart, haggard faces, both young and old - the toll of their long journey clearly weighing on them. They sat in relative silence, with the steady groan of the wood under the feet lulling them into a stupor.
And yet, even with the visible exhaustion on their faces, there was an air of hope.
An odd smile.
A sigh of relief.
An excited 'Are we there yet?'
But as everyone waited with bated breath, Tsukumo held disquieted thoughts. Someone who never knew the outside of her kingdom was now untold miles away from it, through land and sea - away from from everything she's known all her life. It was a bitter irony, that she would long for a place that she ran away from, and yet here she was. For all of the blood spilt and the indignations she has endured, there was something to be said about having a place to belong. To expect normalcy, no matter how twisted a form it took.
And underneath her unlikely nostalgia was fear. She left the yokes of lord and oath, but what would she find in return? Would she run away, only to find another collar around her neck?
The caravan stops, and they begin to disembark. The answer to her question, she would know one way or the other.
And yet, even with the visible exhaustion on their faces, there was an air of hope.
An odd smile.
A sigh of relief.
An excited 'Are we there yet?'
But as everyone waited with bated breath, Tsukumo held disquieted thoughts. Someone who never knew the outside of her kingdom was now untold miles away from it, through land and sea - away from from everything she's known all her life. It was a bitter irony, that she would long for a place that she ran away from, and yet here she was. For all of the blood spilt and the indignations she has endured, there was something to be said about having a place to belong. To expect normalcy, no matter how twisted a form it took.
And underneath her unlikely nostalgia was fear. She left the yokes of lord and oath, but what would she find in return? Would she run away, only to find another collar around her neck?
The caravan stops, and they begin to disembark. The answer to her question, she would know one way or the other.