I lost count of how many winters I had survived. The first one was the hardest. To hunt for something to eat means that there are a lot of things that will try to eat you. I lived amongst the monsters that lurk in the wilderness, away from civilization. The only source of water was the rain and snow, and seldom did I encounter puddles to drink from.

  The settlements that I have encountered were either destroyed and pillaged or drove me away because I am a bad omen, or they could not afford to feed another person in these trying times. Or maybe they knew me as a thief who would steal travelers’ food. The only shelters that I had stayed in were either caves or under the canopies of trees. There are many times that I have slept in the open sky.

  I had forgotten what people are like, aside from hostility. Much of my journey was spent alone, among animals, the grass I tread on, and the trees that I encountered. I found myself reminiscing about my family, wondering if they were still alive. I have conversations with myself without opening my mouth to avoid the pangs of loneliness.

  I kept walking west. Countless steps did I tread, in open fields or within forests. There were days when I was too sick to walk and had to rest until I recovered. As soon as I recovered, I continued my endless trek home.

  At some point, I had marched to familiar lands, places that I had been to in the horde’s wake, and I knew I was going the right way. I saw the familiar mountains that I always saw back home but on the other side. I saw the pass between the mountains, and I knew I had to get there.

  As I trudged through the forests, I saw a great, clear lake, and once again, I felt how parched I was. I ran towards the lake, but I was shocked by what had appeared in my reflection. I did not remember having long hair or a growing beard, and my reflection made it apparent on how tattered my clothes were, as if I was wearing rags all along. I gasped at the sight, and my voice too, sounded different. It was dried and hoarse, and I do not remember my voice being this deep.

  Once I had recovered from my initial shock, I scanned the lake for any hidden aquatic creatures that might devour me if given the chance. I threw a rock at the lake, which echoed a peculiar sound like the lake had swallowed the stone, and once the ripples had settled, I had decided to bathe in its waters and drink as much as I could before setting off.

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  For several days, I made my way towards the mountain pass under the open sky. Whenever I heard the sound of some kind of beast, I stopped moving entirely to hide in the grass, and I only moved when I was completely sure that there was no one around.

  It took another set of days for me to trek the mountain pass. I almost forgot how uneven the path was, with various rocky bumps that I had to climb in certain points. I had to hide behind rocks, crevices, and caves to hide from the beasts that often came down from the slopes. There was little to no wood to make fires with, and so I often slept on the cold stony ground at night.

  Finally, I emerged from the other side of the mountain pass after days of trekking. When I saw the empty and cracked walls of my home, I rushed into the open, gateless gateway and I saw only scattered stones, charred wood, mounds of ashes, and sun-bleached bones.

  I desperately searched for my family, and anyone that may hear my calls. I trudged through the debris scattered in familiar streets, corners, and buildings until I found myself climbing up the upward path to our longhouse. Instead of family greeting me home, the familiar longhouse I grew myself in seemed to be ripped into a burnt and broken carcass of what was once home, with the familiar tile roof shattered into scattered pieces, and the strong wooden beams and walls shredded into splinters.

  I walked on the elevated wooden floor of what was once my home and glanced at the rooms that were once there. I searched for anything that might lead me to them, whether be it letters or missing items that marked their departure, but all I saw was ashes and untouched belongings. I rummaged through the wooden chests and I saw it full of clothes and trinkets. I saw no bones, but the floor was sprinkled with blood which dried long ago.

  Next, I searched the grounds surrounding the house for graves, but there were no markers to be found. I had searched the area I used to carve stones in, but all of the tools were gone, and all that was left was ash and dust.

  They must be somewhere safe. They must be. There were no corpses. There was only bits of bone and dried stains of blood. The chests were full of belongings, their clothes, trinkets and all.

  And so I marched alone. And so I marched again. Until I can find my family.