The road does not end until we realize that we were never walking. Eeegad, I am beginning to sound like some esoteric hermit that makes little or no sense. Sorry. These are wonderful. I have said it before but I must say it again, in  your writing I am able to picture the character. The land about him, and the emotions that stray. I imagine him walking beside you like a shadow, and you his shadow, and during the night is his day, and his day your night. Swordless now, trying to become selfless, from inn to inn, from sorrow to sorrow, and yet still an understanding that there is something grander, better, even if he has yet to ply his fingers around the edge. Tired, weary, but still drawing from an inexhaustible well, but often, the question that arises is if the vessel can withstand the perpetual pour. Be not worried though, be not, for when this wears out, we are assured another and if your journey causes you suffering because of that which is about, and not what is within, then you will be afforded another good one.

Be well my friend
you always have an Inn in my good wishes
G