These lands are not, as you may know, where I was born. I wandered for a long time before I found my way to Dundee and settled here. But I have kept in touch with those I left behind.
I’ve not written much in this journal about siblings. They, like many other people I had known, were left behind when I set out on what a young boy thought would be a simple task, a short departure to seek vengeance. But that was, as I say, long ago. The family became scattered.
The last communication was not good news. And now I must return home, to lay the last of those siblings to rest. But the paths I have walked on my previous visits have become foreign to me. The laws in this land and in the neighbouring land I must enter are no longer the same in each case. I try to not fret, but the last half-cycle has seen me toss and turn as I vainly seek sleep, while in the intervening marcs I try to see a way that I can go to say my last farewell. Whether I can avoid running foul of laws – necessary but extremely restrictive of travelling – remains to be seen.
I must try to keep the thoughts from my mind, and act as I have done in the past. To do what I must, facing obstacles as they are met rather than picturing them beforehand. This constant worry about the possibilities does no use at all. I know it – and I’m sure my sibling knows it too and that she would look down on me with understanding if I could not go there to whisper a final good bye. But that would break my heart.