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For the last weeks, I've spent my days with Jingisu Kan. Spending time in the steppe after what I considered my darkest moment has proven to be a blessing. It took me a while to adapt to their customs, but thanks to their hospitality I managed to learn their ways: How they hunt; why they hunt; that they don't ride their horses but travel with them. The descendants of the Tengri experience life in a different fashion. Riches and status hold no value against the sensation of the wind and the sight of an endless grassland. Maybe that's the reason why Jingisu resigned from Goon Japan. Yesterday, I requested to become a member of her tribe.
She refused. She claimed that if I desired a freedom akin to one of her tribesmen I should take a different path. She said her tribe would not be able to remove the chains that still lingered in my mind. That the scars of my heart ached for a different reason. She could not accept me in her tribe.
Her words made me humble. Yet, I stayed silent. She was in the right. The Kan is the wisest hunter I've encountered. My heart has been aching recently. As the steppes have taught me lessons, there is a whole new world waiting for me to explore. And my body is roaring to discover it. Staying here would not give me meaning. The next morning I packed my belongings and honored their ancients out of respect for their ways and their kindness. I knew what my next step was.
My pilgrimage to Tokyo began.
