Once upon a time, there was born a wanderer. He was like most children, curious and adventurous. He found his greatest adventures within his own mind, and in the forests surrounding his home. There he would walk, climbing rocks that soared above his head, talking about magical adventures, dreaming about creatures beyond our ken. Then, one day, he grew up.
This boy started seeing the world in ways that weren't so adventurous, that weren't so romantic. He began realizing that no one payed any attention to him, except to use him and abuse him. Then he looked elsewhere. This boy embraced other troubled souls, finding the kindredship that only helpless children can feel. He sharpened his growing wit to a point and thought himself mighty because of it. He knew the truth, as did those he kept close. He was weak and hurting. But he still had the forests that were more a home to his soul than any building ever could be.
Then came the day of loss. He left his forests, and was never the same. Gone were the fellow sufferers. Gone were his rocks and trees and rasberry bushes. Gone was everything he knew. He tried to find his kind again in the new world he faced, but there were none. He drew within, cutting off the world that was not his. One day, the boy found another wanderer. Together they built vistas and adventures undreamed. But then came the day when the boy who was to be a wanderer left.
To a new world he went, but it was similar to the oldest one. Here were his forests again. But also here was the oldest pains, the loneliness and the manipulation. He sought to find who he was, and came up short. Surrounded by the bitter and disillusioned, he became that because it was easy. He thought he had nothing left. He was wrong.
One night in summer, this boy lost his innocence, ignorance, and pride in one fell swoop. What was to be a great moment, a beginning of a grand adventure for someone whose soul still sung of great adventures, turned into a sham. A mockery. With nothing left, the wanderer said goodbye to the light and accepted the darkness that had grown within him.
He wandered in the darkness, seeking anyone or anything, just for the sake of anyone or anything. Nothing really mattered, but he was lost. He knew now that home was somewhere else, and he didn't have it. Then one day, he saw a bonfire in the distance. He saw that there were two whom made the bonfire but couldn't dance around it, because they were not together. The soul of a boy who was to be a wanderer returned. He saw the ones who knew suffering. He swore to help them. He was led astray though, by a will o' wisp which left him sinking in the bog of his despair. But sinking, he saw the way to the fire. So he brought them there. And they danced. And he watched. For the first time in what felt like eons, the boy who was to be a wanderer felt happy.
It did not last, though. Such is the way of things. They ones who knew suffering taught the boy to dance, but moved the fire, without telling him where. They left him lost again in the darkness. But the boy who knew how to dance and would one day be a wanderer did not reenter the bog of his despair. He found a path and walked it.
On the way, he found fellow wanderers and old friends. He found a kindred soul, a sister in more ways than a lover. But they parted once the illusion of a romance left, and the boy who was to be a wanderer followed his path.
One day, the boy who was now a wanderer took a path, a sudden little sideroute for no other reason then he wanted to. He exitted the thicket to see the first rays of the dawn on the horizon. Enspelled he followed the first one stretching and could not believe his eyes.
Near him, there kneeled an angel of the purest light who was crying. The wanderer who was no more a boy went to her and held her. And by the light of the dawn, their souls mingled, and the wanderer remembered why he had walked all this way. He had come to find the angel.
