Distance and travel

The Land Doesn’t Know Distance

No one asks how far anything is. They ask how long. Or better still, who or what went with you?

The Land doesn’t know distance, not the way you or I might.

Not in numbers or measures. Not in neat, chalky lines drawn on maps. A place might be near enough to smell the bread baking, or so far off you’d need three good tales and a night under the stars to reach it.

Folk in Owtdare speak in journeys. They say 'it’s half a day’s brisk walk', or 'two days with an ox-drawn cart if it’s dry and the creeks haven’t swelled'.

They say 'it’s a long breath, just past the blackberry run', 'or longer if you’re carrying someone with a sore foot and a sack of mushrooms'.

Sometimes the way there feels longer than the way back.

Sometimes it is longer—because the land shifts, or you took a different turning at a whisper.

Sometimes it’s quicker if you hum the right song and don’t stop to pick flowers.

And if someone like GRiNdaL is with you, you might find a shortcut between two tree stumps you didn’t even know were watching.

There are no way markers here.

Just the worn places in the path, where others have trodden.

A journey across the meadow might be just over the horizon, if the light is right, and the grass is kind.

But the same stretch, at dusk, with fog in your boots and worry in your thoughts, can stretch on forever.

The sea’s another story.

There, it might take three yawns and a dream to cross to the Isles,

but at dawn, with the mist on the waves and nothing but gulls for company, the same crossing can be a year and a half.

That’s just the way of it.

So if you ask how far it is to the next village, they’ll likely squint at the sky and say:

“Well, if your boots are good, you’ll be there before the moon’s halfway up.”

Or

“That depends. Are you alone, or are you laughing?”

Because here, distance isn’t counted.

It’s walked.

It's slithered.

It's flown.

It's crawled.

It’s wondered and,

it's wandered.

It’s felt in the legs (if you've got 'em) and the stories you bring back.