A figure wanders through empty plains, humming a song to themselves. They walk for days, the sun beating down, and the moon guiding their way. Mountains reach upwards on either side of this figure. They follow a single, winding path, overgrown with disuse. They walk through hills and forests and swamps and deserts and everything else in between. When they enter towns, people ask who they are. They respond simply: "A wanderer".
This wanderer walks for miles and miles, following the path as it widens to a well-kept cobblestone road and tiny wildlife trails. Still, they walk. Eventually, they meet another traveler, one dressed in an orange travel robe, and an amber necklace hung around their neck.
"To finding!" wanderer says.
"To searching!" traveler responds, in typical greeting. And so, they traveled for days, following the path.
Eventually, the wanderer asks the traveler, "Why are you on the road?"
They respond, "I am searching for a museum, a library, and a collection." The wander nodded, for while they knew not of these things, they did understand the sentiment.
"And you?" asks the traveler.
"I am searching for a way back to my home."
"A home." The traveler reiterates, for anyone on the road long enough understands the meaning of house and home.
"Yes. I was banished from it long ago. It is where the fires of my ancestors burn, where the water tastes like honey, where the buildings are built of marble and copper." The traveler listens. "I left someone there. A woman." The wanderer pauses. "I loved her very much. And she did too. That is why I'm on this road."
"I see." The traveler says.
They walked together for many days, but eventually, the wanderer had to take a forking path, and the two friends bid goodbye to each other.
"May we meet again," said the traveler.
"May we meet again, " the wanderer confirmed.
