Every step forward is creating a tale.
A tale of forests, of creaking, groaning, moaning trees. Taller, ever taller towards the sky, swallowing the light and freezing everything beneath in a tomb of darkness. The air still, and old. The world has slowed here, the ancient veins of the pines sinking their hold on this place.
A tale of beaches shaped by time, of sand beneath and between our toes. White and fine, the shells have been withered to a dust through the ages. The shallow waves lap into the edge of this tiny island we call home, claiming the earth for the ocean wash by wash.
A tale of rocky mountain paths, of sore feet and sweeping vistas. Towering above us, the sheer drops and tumultuous peaks loom dauntingly. We trudge forward, each movement harder than the last but ever onwards we must travel. The mountains calls us.
Though we may be weary from our journey long, there are so many steps left to take and so many mountains to conquer. Thus, onwards our tale goes.