You come to a stop by a sturdy tree and pause to catch your breath. It’s not been an easy trek, but you’re getting it done. It’d help if there was at least an underlying goal to all of this, something more than ‘see the world’ to give this all a sense of meaning.
You’ve been wandering for a while now, taking in all of the sights and sounds and avoiding highblood towns and major cities. You’re able to hunt and gather what you need for the most part, and what you can’t obtain by those means, you buy with your earnings from the findings that you sell. It’s a modest life, a decent one, in its own right. You still find yourself wishing that there was more of a routine to the nights, but so far, the only thing that’s remained consistent is how much you tend to drift.
You turn your gaze to the sight of skyscrapers a moderate distance away. Skyscrapers generally mean highbloods, and that’s not something you’re interested in tangling with. Perhaps luckily for you, you were told at your last stop that there was another town nearby that was less interested in culling mutants than the typically zealous, imperial dogs that walked among your kind.
Or, maybe, it was more appropriate to say that you walked along theirs. You were the one who was out of place. You were the one who grew up in a small community in the remote north, one that had, until a short while back, yet to taste the full lick of an industrialist’s tongue. You feel a twinge of disgust at the thought.
After a moment, you push yourself off of the tree you had chosen to settle beneath, looking in the direction of where the smaller town was meant to be. You’re exhausted, but you’ll be able to rest for real once you make it there; that, however, becomes a secondary thought as you hear a sound nearby. Footfalls, you believe as you turn to face the source with your hand lowering to the collapsible pike at your side. You’re not looking for a fight, but that doesn’t mean that you haven’t just found one.
