It was a time ago that I plotted this lofty challenge of mine, to see this world in all its glory. Though to say that I have plotted wisely would be foolish. Little did I understand what trials would await my daily foray. This first week has lowered its weight upon my shoulders and I feel neither the great expanse before me nor the comforts of home behind. I have nothing save what I chose to put upon my back.
The grounds below my footfalls slip and slide with sideways steps, soft to the touch as my boots sink within their muddled puddles with grasses slick as winter's ice. Yet each night my back finds no such comfort as hollow reeds give way to jagged stone. The comforts of home elude my flesh as the spokes of the Sirris prod my very being. Yet each new morn I arise with a renewed sense of the hunt; a lustful wanderer caught in a spider's web.
With each new sunrise that dims the heavenly stars and lifts the covers from the night sky my eyes fill with wonderment. I behold new revelations in the mundane sights that held no interest within my confinement. As I look ahead, between the mountain passes the shadows that rise from the world's core become their own sentinels and are no more. The Sirris fades, its quiet domain soon to relinquish its hold over my sense of place and I shall see what new paths define my world.
What is on the other side? I shall soon see.
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