Journey’s End

“I can smell them, the pines. We’re home, aren’t we?” whispered the matron. It had been a hellish journey, but they were back home now, time to rest.

Muska’s mother was a seer who traveled from village to village reading palms, interpreting omens, and foretelling the future.

Since Muska could remember, life has been about moving. She had no memories of sitting by a lake to watch a sunset or visiting a friend to share gossip and tea. No, her life had never stopped long enough for such things.

“I will prepare camp, Mum, then start a fire. Later, you can sit and watch the stars,” said the matron’s daughter. Muska placed her daughter in a woven basket and carried her outside to sleep in the cool mountain air while she worked.

“It’s time to move outside now; here, let me help you up,” said Muska. Allowing her mother’s weight to rest on her shoulder, Muska walked her down the short steps of the caravan to a recliner next to the fire.

“So bright tonight, the same as when I was a child here,” said the matron. Muska fed her mother broth while her daughter suckled her breast.

They sat silent, watching the stars and listening to the night. What had to be said had been said long ago.

“Time for sleep, Mum. The baby is already asleep in the caravan, so please step lightly,” cautioned her daughter.

“As if I could do anything else. Nothing but skin and bone now,” said the matron with a wry laugh.

Placing her mother on the bed, Muska prepared to give her the medicine the healer had prescribed earlier that day. “Not tonight, child. I want to taste and breathe my home’s air as it is,” said her mother.

“As you wish,” said Muska, lying her head beside her mother. She thought of all the wonders her mother had shown her since they left this place.

Muska awoke to an owl’s hoot. It called three times. Muska knew it was time, so she whispered a prayer and kissed her mother goodbye.

When morning came bright and clear, Muska’s heart could not enjoy it as she covered her mother’s body with soil and planted an oak tree at her head.

“You always said you wanted to be an oak. I hope I have honored your wish,” said Muska, then packed the caravan to leave.

Muska bowed to her mother, placed the baby’s basket on the driver’s bench beside her, and called out to the horse, “We have places to go and people to see old Nag. Let us be off.”

“Perhaps I will return here when I am old and wish to taste and breathe the air of my birthplace,” remarked Muska as the wagon rumbled slowly down the path to wonders unseen and places unknown.