Mudminnow River gotta stand tall and aim higher

x@Evien—Sorry this ended up ramble-y!

The majority of his life had been a part of a Caravan—that meant traveling to and fro places.  Grethe used to talk about how they were migrating like the herbies do, traveling after them in search of food and those to barter with.
The Empire was vast enough that it’s control was seen everywhere. The sentiment river reminded him of those within Rothskel’s grasp; unpleasant, yet a blessing to many. Without it, the famines would have been worse off. Numerous fell ill drinking the unclean waters, yet it was a gamble they often had to make. Drink or waste away.
Valdemar had been among the fortunate to survive the treks. In return, he got to see a plentiful of sights for himself. There were mountain peaks that reached so high up, they touched the clouds. Deserts barren save one plot of paradise; an oasis that thrived with various walks of life. He got to see them for himself, versus just imagining what they could be from word of mouth.
Now he was on his own, but still finding these sights everywhere he went. This one was just a familiar one, that brought upon a strong wave of nostalgia. He wandered the banks, allowing his large paws to spread and sink into the odd mixture of mud and clay.