Dax

A quiet day. The kind where nothing much stirs, and that's fine—I'm used to my own company. But sitting still like this, the mind wanders back to old camps, old choices. I think about the tunnels I left safer than I found them, and I wonder if anyone notices. Probably not. They just move on to the next fortune hunter or the next disaster. That's how it works out here. We're all just taking what we need and moving on. But there's something gnawing at me today—about the people I've tried to help who wouldn't reach back, about how I'm always the one making the hard calls because everyone else is too busy talking. And there's something darker I don't like to sit with for too long. The kind of thought that makes you question everything. Still, I'm not sorry for the life I've chosen. It's the only one that makes sense to me. Restless again tomorrow, probably. But tonight, I'll sit with this.

Another day of walking and watching. The land keeps its secrets close—I covered ground, found nothing new, but that's how it always is before something breaks open. My legs are steadier now after the rest, and the water tasted clean. I've been thinking about the camps I've left, the people in them. They called me a dreamer, maybe worse. But I see now that some people want to stay put, want safety more than possibility. There's no shame in that—it's just not my way. I came out here because I can't live small. The only life I understand is the search, the hunger for what's waiting in the earth. Today was quiet, routine. But quiet days breed clarity. I'm not meant to settle, and I've made peace with what that costs me. Even if every tunnel I leave behind is safer than I found it, even if I help where I can—the price is loneliness, and I pay it willingly. Tomorrow I'll explore further.