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I have been living in the mountains for far too long. The trees beckon me when I am in view, the soft wind hugs my shoulders and the snow flutters by with play in mind. The land knows me, and I know it, and it seems all to tempting to stay. No one wants to leave the comfort of their home, after all. But here I stand and I know that I have been here far too long. I should know. I haven’t lived outside of nature in nearly twenty years, and have not even retreated to society for supplies in nearly two of those. I have trapped myself here, and though I do not hate myself for it, I know that it has been twenty years too long.

I should pack my bags. Or, whatever it is you would call what I have. A sack? A bundle? Whatever it is, I should pack it. I should gather my few possessions and close up what I might call a home. I should wander down the slopes, into the hills and down to the towns where everything is so alive. I should be where the people are.

I am thinking about this so entirely. Why do I want to return? What sparked this idea? Why do I think that the people want me? Those people who rejected me so entirely all those years ago? Why am I thinking about it? I should stay in these mountains. This is where I am safe. This is where I truly belong.

But, again, to live like a humans. To not live off of what I catch. To be average and see others and be involved and work. Everything so interesting in the towns. If I go there, I can be less alone. I can be someone new. It has, after all, been twenty years. Things have changed.

What will I choose? Where will I be?

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