No land shall he call home, no territory his own, as he
travels alone. He has seen it all, or so they say. Always on
the watch, listening, hearing, seeing. Always learning,
rarely teaching. Such is the nomad, adjusting to every land
and people, surviving every condition, never at the loss.



This traveler, he carries with him an air of wisdom, coming
from years and places. Understanding and accepting every
culture and custom, belief or choice of path. This air that
he carries, many appreciate it, yet most fear him for it.
None understand, not it nor him, none who have not taken the
long path of the nomad.



At times the nomad will make friends, perhaps accompanies to
a leg of his journey, perhaps hosts in a stop. But he will
always be a loner, never at home, never at peace in the
company of men. Nay, they do not know him, no the land is
not his own, he can adjust but he must move on, the lonely
nomad.



The nomad, he travels all his life, in search of a land he
may call home, a people he can say are his own. His body and
soul strive towards this final destination, he yearns for it
with all his being, that land, the greatest of his wishes.
And yet arriving there is the worst of his fears.



... This, my friends, is the way of the nomad