The birds flew high above as they migrated towards their destiny. In a way, the journey upon The Traveler was not dissimilar. The sun would rise and the sun would fall. The winds would ebb and the winds would flow - a subtle reminder that the state of things remain in constant flux. The Traveler stopped for a moment to look back towards the once great metropolis that had spurned them. At this point, it was difficult to distinguish the decaying skyline from the dust bowls that would hurl their way up and down the amber dunes. Slowly, The Traveler was coming to terms with what had happened but could not foresee what lay ahead. There were no tears to be shed at this point - what was done was done - but fear of the path forward was real and it was palpable. Would it even matter?
