I am used to travel. The past five years have been spent on the road, dust in my hair, in my clothes, in my food. Why do I travel? I am not entirely certain myself.
Searching! That is travel, searching. Long ago I left my beloved home to find something lost. Since then, I have found many villages. None of them had what I seek.
Until yesterday. There was a clock. The shop owner said it, too, was missing something. But he could not say what. I left the shop, almost happy, certain at least that I am nearer. I smiled at a young girl on the road, but she seemed afraid. There are not many like me here. Or was it something else she feared?
Now I am in the eastern town here in the land of Enndover. By some strange event, I have acquired a shop reminiscent of my home. Tomorrow I will continue to seek. A home for this troublesome goat, for one thing.