Rowan lay back in his chair, relaxing his aching muscles. The old man had been awake only six hours and already he was tired. He was always tired these days. No matter what Rowan did just climbing out of bed felt like climbing a sheer cliff face, the old man knew his days were coming to a close. Rowan closed his eyes and listened to the birds which flew overhead. He listened to the fish which swam in the swamp where the gratch and the bukshah were playing. Rowan heard the young children in the teaching square crying out in joy and running off, meaning the harvest party had returned.
The harvest party would travel back and forth between the village and the fields and orchard. It was a four moth trip either way and everyone was eager to reunite with their friends and family. When the harvest party returned everyone dropped what they were doing to run to their loved ones. Byron, who was the herder of the animals would bring those which had gone to the fields back to the swamp so they could fill their bellies with water while the gratch feasted on the fish and the bukshah on the wet grass surrounding the muddy swamp. The only work expected to be completed for the rest of the day was the food being moved to the storehouse.
There was a time when Rowan would have run to greet the harvest party and help to unload the food. But nowadays Rowan was so tired, he hadn't the strength to walk further than his porch. Rowan thought of his grand daughter, Wendy, who would not be returning with the harvest party. Wendy and her husband Glen had left three weeks ago for the birthing mountain. Rowan had been there himself quite a few times, and he never forgot a single one. The first time he held his children in his arms was an unforgettable feeling. Rowan had one daughter and three sons, all of whom had joined the hunting party like he had.
When Rowan was younger people would not chose one job and leave the rest to someone else, when something needed to be done, someone would do it. Opening his eyes the old man looked around at the houses around him, he could still remember watching them being built, but it was such an old memory and he could hardly recall it. Rowan smiled as he thought of all the achievement his people had made, he was proud to be one of them.
They had been attacked a few times in the past but the Zebak seemed to leave them alone eventually, confused the wanderers had sent some people to see what had happened to the Zebak. By some miracle it was the weather that held them back. The lands the Zebak had taken as there own had grown so cold they seemed in an eternal winter, luckily the wanderers lived far enough away that they had been spared the cold. Rowan had seen with his own two eyes the devastation the winter had brought. And although no one would believe it, not even himself, Rowan swore he saw something out in the cold, something in the wind and snow, as if it were alive.
Every few years they went to check on the condition of the Zebak but each time it was the same. The Zebak needed everyone they had to survive the harsh winter. They had lost hundreds, thousands, in their mission to move their people away from the blistering heat of the wasteland upon which they lived, but perhaps they were better off where they were.
Without being hunted down the wanderers lived peacefully. Unable to find one place which suited all of their needs Rowan's people had wandered long and far until they had found places suitable for each thing they required. They would travel from one place to the next as they needed, living up to their name of wanderers, they had settled but at the same time they had not.
"Grandpa! Grandpa!" Rowan's great grand daughter Gilan ran up to him. "Grandpa the harvest party has returned!" She exclaimed excitedly, climbing onto the old man's lap.
"So I have heard my dear," Rowan replied, smiling at the little girl. Gilan was only six and had beautiful raven black hair and a pointed face, characteristic of her Zebak heritage, crystal blue eyes from her traveller ancestry, and the lighter skin of a girl of Rin. Gilan, like many others, was a true example of the wanderer people. They had come from different places with different lifestyles, but they had put that behind themselves long ago, now they were all one.
"When will auntie Wendy be returning?" The excited little girl began chattering excitedly to her aging relative. "I can't wait to see her new baby, I wonder if it will be a boy or girl..." The child went on, her great grandfather half listening as he was slowly dozing off.
Rowan was so tired these days, he could barely stay awake a few hours and even that was a strain. He had had a good life, he lived with no regrets. Rowan was a father, a grandfather, a great grandfather, he had watched his descendants grow and fall in love to start families of their own. His wife had passed on a few years ago and although he missed her he did not weep, for she had lived a good life and it had simply ended, as all things did eventually. Rowan could hear Gilan's excited and happy voice as she chattered on, ignorant to Rowan slipping off into sleep.
The old man was so tired, so weak, his breaths slowed as his body gave up, it had served him well these long years but Rowan was old now. He had lived till the end of his days, and now it was time to let that all go, now Rowan would be with his wife Diarra once more. And so it came to be that the first born wanderer died. He died with a smile on his face as he listened to his great grand daughter talking happily. Rowan could not have asked for a better death.
~SophieAngel69