His laced boots were a deep tinge of dirt, stained by all the marshy mud they trudged through: battered leather that had lived a thousand years, walked a million miles—each marking an indelible testament to the worlds he had visited. They had crossed damp, weighty rainforests, sifted through endless deserts, scraped mountainsides, breezed through the windswept seas, and skipped by sequestered towns.

With every stride, every step, the boots lit with a fiery wanderlust—leaping closer and closer to the infinite horizon, a world—wild and untamed—in which only the restless understood.

He would be there soon.