A long time ago, a young boy wrapped his blanket around his neck like a cloak, and took off to see the world.
His footsteps were light and his mind was clear. He wandered through forests and meadows, sleeping under leaves and picking apples from branches.
Along the path he found a lumberjack, big chested and with a hearty smile.
The boy followed the lumberjack for a while, learning how to swing an axe and speak the language of the forest. The lumberjack had a family, a good life and a good home. He’d wake up early in the morning, pursue a worthy goal, and would sell his wares in the village. The lumberjack was strong but kind, frugal but generous, authoritative but humble.
Then one day, when the lumberjack was selling wood out by the village, he died in a fire.
The boy was distraught and ran to the village. There he saw everything the forest had hidden from him. The fire was no accident, it was set off by a raid. Barbarians waded through the village using axes in exactly the wrong way. The boy could only watch and cry.
He wandered the path for a while trying to forget what he saw. The trees were gone now along with their protective shade and sweet apples. He was searching for an answer to explain what happened to the lumberjack.
He wandered to a coastal village, and along the path found a merchant, plumb bellied and with a golden smile.
The boy followed the merchant for a while, learning the ways of tracking ships and tasting wine. The merchant had a great many ships and workers, who automatically traded goods to distant lands. He’d wake up in the morning, chase every pleasure available to him and go to bed surrounded by women he didn’t know the names of. The merchant was ecstatic in the noise but numb in the night. He was smart enough to create a business, but not smart enough to live off one.
Then one day, when the merchant was gorging himself on cakes and teas, he died of a heart attack.
The boy couldn’t say he was surprised. Even at his young age the boy was starting to feel the effects of the lifestyle. His stomach was pudgy and his eyes red. He hated looking in the mirror. He was old enough to covet others, and also old enough to realise no one would ever want him.
He wandered the path for a while, taking a ship to a distant land. The air here was cold and the ground covered in frost. The boy was ill prepared for such a cold, and found himself losing himself to the darkness. The remaining wine he brought with him wasn’t warm enough.
He wandered to an entrenched campsite, and along the path found a soldier, with powerful arms and a steely gaze.
The boy followed the soldier for a while, learning the ways of swinging metal and marching in the cold. The soldier had a forged center, a fundamental belief in his actions and his glory. He woke up in the morning, challenged armies and monsters and farmers, and slept the night covered in sweat and blood. The soldier was disciplined but unrestrained, mighty but small, prideful but determined.
Then one day, when the soldier was raiding a village, he died to an unlucky blow.
Enraged, the boy moved to avenge the soldier's death. He raised his axe, but froze before he could cut down his target. He was staring into the terrified eyes of a brave little girl. Suddenly he realized he was using his axe in exactly the wrong way.
Lost and more unsure than ever, the boy wandered down the path. He crossed forests and rivers and seas. Freezing tundras and burning desserts. He chopped down a few trees, drank a few old wines, and won a few good fights. He was strong but kind, frugal but generous, authoritative but humble. He was a little foolish and a little smart. He had a forged core, a sense of who he was, and what was right.
He wandered for a while, when along the path he found a little child. The child was cold and unsure. Hungry for both food and challenge. They regarded the boy curiously. The boy felt a moment of clarity. The boy unhooked his cloak, a blanket full of burns, stains, cuts, and draped it around the child. The child looked at the cloak with wonder and a competitive glint appeared in his eye.
For a long time the child followed the boy around. They ate the same food, drank the same water, and walked the same steps. As he grew older, the child would skew from the boy's path before returning back. They would fight and laugh and bicker and cry. Many faces passed by. Many faces stayed.
Then one quiet evening, after countless stories, places, and mistakes, the boy felt his feet finally give out from under him. With the faintest smile, he closed his eyes and died peacefully in his sleep.
The child buried the man. After a period of grief, the child wrapped a blanket around their neck as a cloak and took off to see the world.