LOST

History books can only hold so many heroes, but time is filled with legends that are no longer taught—warriors left to die on the battlefields of forgotten yesterdays. The years pass and tales of new heroes come to light to take the place of those we then forget. I suppose, to whoever happens upon this journal, my words would seem profound, but I find them to be nothing more than the desperate thoughts of a very desperate man, clinging to the hope that his brother is still alive somewhere, waiting to be found. He may not even know he is lost.

It’s been almost six months since I saw a man I thought was my brother and have not yet been able to find him again. I’m beginning to think Brandr and Tófa were right. Maybe Xamn is gone forever. Maybe I’m just a silly old man on a fool’s quest and those visions were just brought on by an empty stomach. Then again, perhaps I’m just having one of those days. I used to love mornings like these. The sun shining alone in a bright, blue sky, no clouds to get in the way of it warming my face—cool from a slight breeze. Now, it could be thirty degrees, a dark-grey sky looming overhead, threatening to rain sleet and ice on my tired and weary soul… and it would still be just another morning. Another day without my brother… gone and on to the next one. The more cities and towns I walk through, the more the faces meld into one… one that’s not my brother’s. Thank Valhalla for Goose. He’s Xamn’s dog, but he’s been with me every step since my brother disappeared. I wonder how many miles these feet have carried me in twelve centuries, and how many more they will keep doing so. Hopefully, just long enough.