A walk from himself.

There was clay caked to his shoes from the long walk. His homespun clothes, now threadbare, did not keep him warm on the cold nights. He endured by sleeping during the warmth of the days and walked in the cold nights. He fed off the scraps others threw away and carried nothing. His journey had no end and by moving at night few saw him. He was alone. He had pledged his life to wander, to walk, to leave behind all his evil ways. In his mind his prayers for redemption could only come from literal distance from where he used to be in life. To never again be what he was meant to always move forward without pause for fear of that past self catching up to him. So he walked.

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