The pathway became difficult to follow. He occasionally stumbled over tree roots left exposed by the erosion of many travelers. Walking deliberately he would notice the subtle zig and zag of his journey and he learned never to question the sudden veer in direction when contrary to where he believed the direction should lay.
On a most peculiar day, he lost sight of the trail. He ignored what he knew to be true. The wisdom of stillness was replaced with a quickened pace. The terrain grew steep and his fast pace was replaced by a run. The ascent felt good as his lungs were filled and his heart beat loudly. Speed was soon replaced with imbalance and his bottom began to feel the thud of his own heel. Knowing that balance was no longer his he waited for the inevitable which came with a tumble, a disorienting roll, that ended with cuts and bruises. The forced stillness was painful, on many levels. That the sun had set and the cool of the evening was upon him, he looked about for a place to reside for the night and tend his wounds.
Left without comfort, his solitude reminded him of those that he had once traveled with. He had parted ways and went on alone. Clearly, he had to go this way and let the others go theirs. It was neccessary if he was to walk freely. Emotions are like little children wanting to be heard. But children do need guidance and are never left to run unsupervised.
Sleep brought unexpected guests that would tend to his wounds, wounds that ran deeper than his cuts and brusies. He nestled deeper into his burrow and waiting for the sun to rise.
He knew what he had to do.