Ravensblood Forest The best traveler is one without a camera

The fact that the sense of smell is inextricably linked to memory was no news to Dwin. She also had learned to count the passage of time with it too. On a daily basis, when her mind was occupied by planning on, where to go next or where to find anything to eat, she did not dwell much on the life she had left behind. But once evening set and she curled up to have a rest, longing for home washed over her like a wave. At first she had found some consolation in the fact that her coat still carried the scent molecules of her family members. Mixed together with her own olfactory signature, it felt as if she carried some part of them with her. Like a photograph to look through and recall the best times spent together. 

However, unlike colours in the photos, the scents waned and disappeared faster. The longer Dwin spent time on her own, the harder it was to find comfort in the world of scents. They were dwindling and disappearing one by one, until in that figurative photo of hers was left no one else but her against the backdrop of, wherever she happened to be at that given time. The sulphuric odour of the hot springs still clung in her hair and messed with her nose, when she crossed the edge of a sequoia forest. There pungent aroma of conifers took over. All of a sudden this reminded her of home so sharply, that the girl stood still and fought back an urge to cry. 

No, not because her choice to leave had not played out exactly as she had planned. Rather - growing up and breaking that bond with your parents is so damn hard. On all of us.