There was, however, an exception. One vagabond stood strong among us, his eyes full of energy and strength.
He had lived longer than all of us combined, and his experience was showing through in everything he did. Our leader was one who would never do something without a reason, and we had absolute trust in every single decision he made. It was no surprise, then, that nobody thought twice before making their way towards the call.
Call, huh? His blades are made of iridium, the densest material in the world. Its hardness was also the disadvantage, as it made the blades very brittle. Whenever the two were ground against each other, a horrible screech would fill the air, and lots of dust particles would land on the ground.
Those sounds were our sign, and, more often than not - they signified change.
And that's exactly what we need. Good timing, Mister Iridium.
I peeped around, noticing hints of excitement in some. It's to be expected. After all, they, including myself, believe our leader can solve any problem with the most optimal solution.
So why is it, that I feel a sorrowful gaze fixed on me, coming from none other than our leader himself?
Two titanium vagabonds looked at each other, nodded, and one transformed his blades into thinner, shorter ones, closely resembling human knives. The other pulled out a large piece of bark from under a rock, where it was being flattened by weight.
Scribbles echoed around us as we closely read every symbol being etched into the bark's surface.
"We. Fly. Find. Far Island. No. Close island." That is roughly what the symbols meant.
These titanium guys are our best sky explorers, and, according to them, there are no islands close by, but they did manage to find a good island far away.
Well, that sucks, but it's nothing we haven't seen before. Just means we are in for a long flight.
Hmm, but something tells me there's more to this. Our iridium leader wouldn't have this concerned look on his face otherwise.
As if to confirm my suspicion, they pulled out a second piece of bark and proceeded to engrave the surface of this one with more detached symbols.
"Wait. Long. Weather worse." I held my breath as I realized what conclusion the message was leading to.
"Weather worse. Time. Worse. 7 years."
I get it now. The weather's getting a lot worse, and it won't clear with time. In fact, it will be the exact opposite. For at least seven years the storms will keep getting stronger and stronger, and the closest habitable island is far away. Oh, and we can't remain on the island either, cause we'll all just starve here.
So that's why our Mr iridium looked all so sad and sorry. The bastard was gonna abandon me! I'm basically dead weight to the pack. A young, immature, inexperienced, vagabond like myself will surely end up getting caught up in winds. I haven't even learned how to fly yet, nevermind doing so in a storm.
Having an older vagabond take care of me isn't even worth it, cause carrying a few dozen kilos on your back amidst the tempest is guaranteed to get both of us killed.
Huh. Hahaha.. fuck.
A look of despair, far stronger than that of our leader, flushed over my face. I stood there, trembling.
After spending 28 years growing up and learning how to survive, am I really just gonna die a slow death by starvation on a huge island all by myself, while the others spend their jolly ole time on a new, lush island full of food and life?
This is the worst.