She always had a terrible case of wanderlust.
Always on the road. She was always on the road. Her feet were sore and tired from days, weeks, months, years of travel. The soles of her feet were tough with time; the soles of her shoes were thin with wear. The sky above her shone bright with the daytime sun.
Dust kicked up around her feet as they met the ground. Another town, another night, a different room, and more of the same time-worn stories she never tired of telling. Cheap food and odd jobs were just enough to get her by. Long nights and even longer days marked the passage of time in her life.
And there in the distance, so far away lay her goal. The blue haze in on the horizon. Always it had fascinated her, as a little girl, capturing her mind and enchanting her imagination. What lay within? Beyond? How far must she travel to find it?
How was she to find it, as well? How was she to find she to find the haze in the distance? Should she follow the wind, or the sky and its stars, or s