A Mother Of No Destination -

She didn’t carry a child in her arms, but rather a heavy, cedar-lined trunk strapped to a small wooden cart. Every morning, as the fog rolled off the Atlantic, Elora would begin her walk. She didn’t head toward the market or the docks; she simply walked until the sun dipped below the horizon, often ending up in a different thicket or cliffside than the day before.

That night, Elora passed away quietly. When the villagers found her, the trunk was gone. In its place was a single, new stone resting on her lap. It had no name on it yet, but it was glowing faintly in the moonlight—a final passenger ready for the next long walk. A Mother of No Destination

"A mother looks after her own," she whispered. "But who looks after those who belong nowhere? I carry them with me. As long as I am moving, they are still traveling. As long as I have no destination, they are never 'lost'—they are simply on their way." She didn’t carry a child in her arms,

The village children, curious and bold, once cornered her near the Whispering Pines. "Where are you going, Elora?" they chirped. "The road to the north leads to the city, and the road to the south leads to the salt mines. You’re just walking into the woods." That night, Elora passed away quietly