Otter Creek And the book you write's magnificent

A wish of guidance. Peculiar, he found, that a stranger might be wished such but he made no comment in regards to it. Perhaps there still existed some kind souls in the world, those that truly thought not only of themselves. “Ah,” he remarked. “I do hope that the winds will guide me, then.” Maybe these winds could carry with them some memories—although, there may be no memories to deliver. His venturing away from the land of the willows was done in his youth, a lost child capable only of driving himself further and further from the ones he knew. Even the point of no return was but a speck of dust on the horizon in comparison to where he ended up, never to retrace his way back home; there were no memories of him returning, nothing for the wind to deliver unto him.

The apology uttered was brushed off with a slow shake of his head. “You needn’t apologise,” he told her. “None of us can appear unblemished at all times.” Even Eros had bad days when he just couldn’t quite get himself in order. But that was nothing worth dwelling on, not when she spoke again—this time of passage through the mountains, which was part of what he sought.

“Perhaps,” was his cryptic reply, accompanied by a nod. “I seek the land of the willows. But I’m afraid I do not recall if it is within the mountains or on the other side of them.” It’s been so long since he was last there, the images of sights seen from beyond the willows were fleeting. Even the faces of those that once claimed the land as their own, of his own siblings, were slowly fading from his mind. Ah, how time could influence things.