Before I was able to head out this morning, an old man approached me. Having heard of my interest in the ruins, he explained that he once visited these rocks as a teenager. Apparently, the people of his village never embraced the ghostly stories that the other villagers told; instead, they had a rite of passage were the young men ventured deep into the highlands until they found an item by which to bring back as proof of their exploit.
This excited me to no end, not only because of the amusing gesture of spite against the other villagers of his kin, but also that it meant that there indeed are more ruins laying about.
Though my face surely shone with excitement at the time, I was taken aback by the lightless eyes that the old man expressed. Showing fear and weariness that is so rare among his kin, who otherwise hides their emotion behind a cold expressionless face.
As the old man continued his story, he suddenly dug into a satchel, strapped under his belt, and presented an item for me.
The item was shimmering in gold, with markings of an unknown kind. And around it, jewels were encrusted in red, yellow and blue, and another gem that was missing.
I was speechless. Its design was uncanny in its similarities to my own culture. It is almost as if the gems represented the Three Great Tribes of our race, by which I belong to the yellow. Of course, because of my eye colour. Truly, it must be a coincidence?
As I tried my hardest not to touch it out of respect, I noticed how fragile and famished the old man was, his hands trembling as he held it before my eyes. I quickly dug into my own satchel to offer him some food, but as I turned, the old man had already left. Limping down the hill back to his own kind.
Dumbfounded with questions, I could not draw breath to ask who he was and I just watched as the mysterious man disappeared among the crowd below.
Read the rest of the series here: The Exodus Journal