Into The Distance

I stood at the edge of our little village, staring into the distance. Fields stretched on forever, shifting from farmland to meadows to bramble-infested land. Beyond that, not many knew. At least, not many who spoke our language.

“You're always here. Honestly, I'm worried I'll wake up one morning to find you've gone to find the end of the world.”

Chuckling, I turned around, mother smiling at me. “There you go, giving me ideas.”

She laughed, reaching over to clean some smudge off my cheek. “Well, your father would've been about your age when he stumbled across little old me. Maybe it runs in the family?”

“Ah, that'd explain it.”

I faced the sunrise again and she shuffled next to me. “You know, I always wondered how people could do it, leave everything and everyone behind. I don't suppose you could enlighten me?”

“Dunno about others,” I began, rubbing the back of my head. “For me, I guess it's a little boring hanging around here. We get a traveller now and then and, even though we don't know what they're saying, I know they had to come from somewhere, some place that's different.”

“And different means exciting?”

Shrugging, I said, “Maybe. For all I know, I could walk for weeks and end up back here. Or, I could find a village that makes those amazing clay sculptures. Who knows, maybe I'd find a brand new animal that I'd get to name in our tongue.”

“That would be alluring, especially after hearing all the tales from him.”

“Yeah, seeing some of the creatures he grew up with, it'd be a nice way to, er, I guess honour his memory.”

She let out a long sigh, bringing a hand up to rest on my arm. “I remember when you could barely walk, you know. Everyday, you'd drag him here and demand he took you on an adventure.”

“And he'd laugh and pick me up, sitting me on his one shoulder like a pet bird. Then, he'd walk us out to the grand old oak and we'd wait for you bring a picnic for breakfast.”

“And we'd all sit in a circle, gobbling up the sandwiches before he told us another story from his childhood. Even if we'd heard it a hundred times before, we'd hang onto his every word, ooing and ahing.”

I swallowed the lump that had appeared in my throat, reaching across to put my hand on hers. “It's funny how I remember his voice so clearly, practically hear him, yet couldn't tell you the colour of his eyes or how tall he actually was or anything like that.”

“Blue,” she whispered. “A lovely bright shade, that made me think of the sky whenever I stared into them.”

Smiling, I said, “Fitting.”

“Very,” she said with a matching smile. For a while, we said nothing, listening to the hustle and bustle of the others while looking into the distance. Then, when the last traces of dawn left and the sun shone it's Summer shine, she spoke. “I've put some salted beef in your pack, you know, just in case.”

I moved my arm up to her far shoulder, hugging her against me for a moment. “Thanks mum.”

“Be safe.”

“I will.”

She'd brought my rucksack out, slightly more plump than when I'd prepared it last night. Heaving it up, I took a last look across the village. More than a few smiled and waved, friendly faces I might never see again.

Breathing in deeply, I took my first step, one small step closer to the unknown, to an adventure.

Hours of walking still didn't put the farms behind, but the boundary towards the meadows neared. I broke for lunch, eating up a cheese sandwich. Afterwards, I continued on, entering the lush fields overflowing with flowers and bugs and various rodents as well as the odd larger animal.

The thicker grass tugged at my legs and I found my pace lackadaisical at best. When the sun started nearing the horizon, I'd not yet reached the end of the grassland, even though it didn't cover as much ground as the farms did.

Most dangerous animals had been hunted away generations ago, however I didn't fancy lying where any old creepy crawly could walk all over me. So, I checked out the nearby trees until I found one sturdy enough to keep up a hammock.

Back at the village, livestock made up the night chorus and they'd been docile things that barely mooed after dusk, so a warm silence usually descended with the sun. Far from home, so many creatures sang their songs, bugs I'd never heard before and night-birds that preyed on them.

When dawn rolled around, I had a frugal breakfast and then went on.

The boundary between grassland and wasteland never had a clear-cut place, instead the flora steadily became thicker and less manageable. Yet, by midday, I struggled enough to say I'd made it beyond the village's boundary.

Things fell into a pattern from then on. I'd spend most of the day battling against all manners of scrubs that would poke and scrape, while relaxing and sleeping in the hammock by night. For food, I took to foraging what familiar animals did, as well as some trapping once my packed meat ran out. If I found fresh water streams, I'd stock up on water and wash my clothes, weather permitting, before following it for an hour or two. After all, wildlife frequented the water too.

For weeks I'd travelled and still hadn't seen any sign of civilisation. But then, one day, that changed.

I followed a stream down a gentle slope, curious if there'd be fish at some point. As it swelled with other tributaries, the riverbank became crowded with willowy trees, thankfully keeping the hot sun at bay. Eventually, my curiosity found its answer.

Moving to the edge of the lake, I found a nice spot to have lunch. Only once I'd taken off my rucksack and sat down on a large root did I look around.

A quarter of the way around or so, a lady stood, half-hidden by a tree. After a moment of me watching, she slid her body around more, only her head sticking out.

I had no idea what to do, but it had been lonely.

So, I called out, “Friend!”

She darted fully behind the tree for a few seconds, and then poked around it again. Sighing, I wondered if she understood me. Father hadn't spoken our tongue at first, and none of the travellers did, so it would be strange if she could.

But, maybe, she'd come from a similar place to him. Scratching the back of my head, I thought back to those days. He'd taught me his village's word for friend, a funny word that made me think of a bird cawing.

“Aha,” I said to myself before calling out again. “Dachi!”

This time, she didn't hide away. Although hard to make out, it looked like she muttered to herself a few words before, softer than I did, shouting, “Dachi?”

Smiling, I replied, “Dachi!”

If I hadn't been looking so closely, I might have missed the brief smile. “Dachi!”