Ditnecht and Nomads

All I ever wanted was to be a simple man, living a simple life. The world, it appeared, had other ideas. For years I thought that this was simply an issue with humanity; lately it seems the Earth itself had lost patience.

 Don’t get me wrong, I knew within a month of being here that this was not the world for me. The people here, they choose to live on top of each other. So crowded they are that they long ago gave up even noticing each other. They flood their city’s pathways; brushing past each other with barely a nod of recognition. Always on the go, they complain ceaselessly about the pace of their lives yet the only time they are willing to give pause is when they chose to poison themselves. This is not the world for me. Of course, we don’t always have a choice, do we?

 My Ditnecht is ancient and could not survive another journey. I’d be happy to leave this world, but I refused to consider leaving the fabric all together; at least, until very recently. Right around the time I decided I did not really belong here any longer I started having those dreams. I had considered the fact that my thoughts of final exile may have been connected to my inner thought realizing I was starting to lose my mind. They say old age can do that to you. Though for us Nomads, there has never really been a defining point for old.

 In these dreams there was a voice calling me; beckoning, and there was no way to refuse it. I never managed to arrive on time though. Some nights I come upon the precipice of my mountain only to hear the voice that had been pleading for my presence replaced by fading screams. On others, there is nothing there at all; only the cliff, and the city lights beyond. Though everything appears as it should be, I sense that the entire scene is, or should be, tainted with blood. The worst nights though, are the ones on which I arrive in time to see the owner of this pleading voice propel herself off the edge of my mountain.

 Thrice now there has been a night where all three versions of this dream visit me. After those nights, the beckoning was still just as strong when I arose from my bed. I could not ignore it and I spent the entirety of the day neglecting my home, my fields, even my stomach. I dressed and headed to the cliff. I arrived before the sun rose, with the city lights blazing beyond the drop off. I did not leave until an hour after the sun has departed. On both ends of the day the view matched that of my dreams, minus the girl, her screams, and a sense of death.

 I would pace, I would sit. Often on the edge from which she leapt. I would stare down at the city and pity those poor people. They destroy themselves and complain that the world is so harsh. But they are not like a mischievous child; striking a sibling and then running to papa when the sibling fights back. Instead they are like true children; ignorant and oblivious to the damage they cause. I despise them, I pity them, but I do not hate them. I cannot stomach their way of life and so I isolated myself to my tiny farm atop my mountain. But I still care about them. Which is why, before these dreams, I would avoid the cliff at all costs. The view of their city saddens me deeply.

 Now, for the last week, I had not dreamt at all. I was relieved and thought things would finally return to normal for me. Then it happened, the sun was soon to set and it appeared rain was on the way. Done with my field for the day I was storing the hand plow in my shed when I heard her voice. Never before had the dream caressed my waking mind, but there was no doubt this was the same voice. And it was beckoning me, but there was no sense of urgency, no impending doom. It mattered not, I could not ignore the call.

 Grabbing my slicker and walking stick I headed off towards the cliff. It was about a forty five minute hike, and I did not allow myself to wonder how this voice could carry thus. Once I entered the final clearing, with the precipice in view, the answer presented itself. The city was alight, as in my dreams, and there she was, not the girl I would occasionally see only briefly as her plummet began, but Tuinsha.