Chapter Twelve: The Bend
Rainy's Journal - Day 34
"The One Kind of Good"
It came to me quietly, as so many truths do.
The morning air was still, save for the restless voice of the wind. I stood alone in the tall grass, tea in hand, my feet damp with dew, and for a moment, the world opened. Not in sound or spectacle—but in feeling. A torrent of emotion swept through me so completely that I could do nothing but feel it.
It was joy. But more than that—it was a kind of ecstasy. So pure, so overwhelming, I almost laughed aloud. I wanted to leap into the sky.
Before me stretched miles upon miles of wild earth—clear at first, then fading into mist and memory. Mountains bled into plateaus, which fell away into desert, all of it dissolving into the sky. There was no way to hold it, no way to preserve it. So I did the only thing I could: I breathed it in. Deeply. As if I could fill my lungs with wonder itself.
And I thought, There is only one kind of good feeling.
We name it in many ways—delight, beauty, awe, love—but at its core, it is always the same. We feel it in the tickle of wind, the shock of cold water, the gentleness of a touch, the sweetness of a kiss. This is the feeling we chase, over and over. Not for greed. But for communion.
That good feeling—this capacity for deep, shimmering pleasure—seems to me a sacred gift. Perhaps the most human of gifts.
I wondered then, as birds sliced the sky like arrows and butterflies danced beside me: Do they feel it too? Do they know the wonder of their own flight?
Maybe. But I believe not as we do.
For it is we who shape meaning from it. We who ache, who long, who weep and rejoice and raise our voices to the sky in search of understanding. Without us, the world would still be glorious—but quiet. Like a song with no ears to hear it. We are not separate from this creation. We are part of it. An essential part.
Even in our struggle—even in our folly—we belong to the world, and it belongs to us.
And though we often stumble, I believe that we will, somehow, fulfill what we were meant to fulfill. Not through flawless design, but through our relentless pursuit of that single, shining feeling—the one kind of good that draws us, again and again, toward the very heart of all things.
--------------------------
Rainy stood at the upper edge of the forest, where the tree line thinned, then stopped. Her small village long since faded into the miles behind her. The road ahead stretched endlessly, winding through hills and valleys she had never seen before. In her heart, she carried a vision—a life beyond the confines of the only home she had ever known. It seemed so clear in her mind: a future where her dreams would take root and flourish. All she had to do was take the first steps, face the challenges, and see it through.
At first, it felt easy. The crisp air invigorated her, and the promise of freedom buoyed her spirits. But as the days wore on, the simplicity of her plan unraveled. The trail grew steep, and unfamiliar shadows lingered at the edges of her path. Every step brought new trials—some small, others overwhelming—until they layered upon one another, forming a weight she had never imagined.
The dreams that had once filled her heart with hope now felt distant, almost unreachable. She began to doubt herself. Could she truly find the life she longed for, or had she been chasing an illusion? The vision of freedom and adventure she’d cherished became a fragile thing, slipping through her fingers like water. The grand dreams of her journey turned into whispers, leaving her clinging to the faintest shred of belief.
There were moments, as she sat alone under a canopy of stars, when her doubts were all she could hear. She thought of the village she’d left behind, of her family and friends. What would they say if they could see her now, lost and unsure, a girl who had dreamed too big and ventured too far? The weight of her longing was unbearable—an ache for what might have been, and for the safety she had left behind.
But Rainy was not alone in her journey, not truly. Along the way, she met others walking their own winding roads. They shared their stories—of dreams that had lifted them, of struggles that had broken them, and of hopes that still flickered like fragile flames. In their voices, she found echoes of her own fears and courage.
As they parted ways, Rainy would cry for them, just as she cried for herself. The journey was hers to walk, but the knowledge that others faced the same darkness brought her a fragile kind of solace. They were all so small, so fleeting in the vastness of the world. Yet, in their shared struggle, in their stubborn hope, there was something precious. Rainy pressed on, carrying the quiet belief that even in the darkness, there was meaning in the journey.
Rainy tightened the strap of her pack and adjusted the weight of her walking stick. The trail ahead disappeared into the morning mist, a winding ribbon of dirt and stone that stretched beyond what her eyes could see.
There was someone who walked with her—not beside her, but in her mind. A man whose face she could not yet picture, whose voice was still a mystery. She did not know who he was, this man from her dreams, but she knew he waited for her somewhere on this road, and her quest would not end until she found him.
He wasn’t real—not yet—but she felt his presence like the echo of footsteps behind her. In her imagination, he was a kindred soul, someone who would listen to her stories with the wonder they deserved and share truths she hadn’t yet discovered. Perhaps he, too, was on his way to the Valley. Perhaps he would understand what drove her when no one else had.
Rainy’s mission was twofold. First, she sought the truth, though what form it would take she could not yet say, but it was the only truth. It was a longing, an unspoken question that pulled her forward like an invisible thread. Alongside this, she carried another purpose: stories. Her own and those of the people she hoped to meet. She was a teller of tales, a weaver of words, and she believed that stories held a power greater than swords or gold.
In the quiet moments, Rainy rehearsed the tales she would share when she finally found an audience. Stories of bravery and loss, of the stars that watched over her journey, of the strange and wonderful things she had begun to notice now that she had left the noise of the village behind. She told these stories to the wind, to the trees, and to the trail itself. Would they laugh at her tales? What tales would he tell? She couldn’t help but wonder if his voice would carry the truth she sought.
The dream of the nightscape, of the surging sea of souls was always in her mind, and so was he.
But the road was not an easy one. The terrain was unforgiving, and the nights were cold and long. At times, her purpose felt fragile, like the faint glow of her lantern in the dark. There were moments when she doubted her resolve, when the weight of her solitude pressed down on her like an invisible hand. She would sit by her fire, staring into the flickering flames, and wonder if she was chasing an illusion.
Still, she pressed on, clinging to the image of the man in her dreams and the truth she was certain awaited her. She knew she was moving toward something—something vast and important. Perhaps it was the stories she carried that kept her going. Perhaps it was the hope that, at the end of the road, she would find not just the truth but someone who would understand the depths of her heart.
For now, the journey was her companion. The stars were her witnesses, and the silence her confidant. Rainy walked onward, her footsteps steady, her tales ready to be told to the first kind soul she might meet. She didn’t yet know where the road would take her, but she was certain of one thing: the truth would reveal itself in time, and she would have her stories to guide her there.
Rainy adjusted her hood against the cool breeze and set her gaze firmly on the trail ahead. Her boots crunched over gravel and fallen leaves, the only sounds in a world that seemed to hold its breath. She had a destination—a place she had only heard of in whispers, a place few believed was real. The Valley of the Elder Children.
The stories spoke of it as a hidden sanctuary, where the air shimmered with ancient wisdom and truths were laid bare for those brave enough to seek them. Rainy’s heart ached for that truth. She wanted to understand why those she had left behind—her friends, her family, her village—seemed content to stay in ignorance. She had asked them even when she was young, trembling with hope: “Don’t you wonder? Don’t you want to know why we are here, where we are going?”
Their answers had been hesitant smiles, dismissive waves, and the sort of pity reserved for those who dream too much. “Rainy, the world is what it is. No need to trouble yourself with questions that can’t be answered.”
But she did trouble herself. It gnawed at her, this unrelenting desire to peel back the veil of the world and look at its core. She couldn’t understand why no one else seemed to care. Why did they laugh at her stories of a greater purpose? Why did they fear the idea of seeking something beyond their quiet lives? These questions had pushed her onto the trail, far from the safety of home, toward the Valley where she believed the answers waited.
The mountains loomed ahead, shrouded in mist and whispers of warnings—an ancient, forbidden place where few dared tread. But Rainy had no choice. She walked alone, her footsteps soft against the moss-covered path, her heart as heavy as her pack. It wasn’t just the weight of her supplies that slowed her—it was the haunting questions she carried, the ones that seemed to multiply with every step.
By the time she reached the end of the tree line, exhaustion finally overtook her. The path curved sharply upward, a steep climb that would demand strength she no longer felt she had. Rainy sighed and sat on a large, flat rock at the trail's edge, letting her pack slide from her shoulders.
Ahead, the road stretched into the distance, bathed in golden light that filtered through the canopy of tangled branches. Shafts of sunlight pierced the gloom, casting luminous patterns across the path. It looked as though the forest itself breathed light and shadow, leading toward something greater just beyond her sight.
Rainy let her head rest against the cool bark of a nearby tree, staring down the road. It reminded her of truth—bright, infinite, and just beyond reach. It’s brilliance was too much to bear directly, yet here it was, refracted through the brokenness of the world, filtered by the interplay of light and dark.
She had always believed beauty was born from that tension—the contrast of shadow and radiance, the moss-draped trees against the glow of a rising sun. But she also knew that this beauty only existed because of the light at the end of the road. Without that source, without light, the shadows would swallow everything, leaving only emptiness.
Rainy glanced at the journal she kept tucked in her jacket. She had come here seeking something—answers, maybe. Or perhaps just clarity. She had spent her days dreaming of the children’s laughter. It should have felt fulfilling, but a strange unease had settled in her heart.
She couldn’t shake the thought that her efforts were fleeting, that she was squandering time she didn’t truly own. The world felt like it was teetering on the edge of something vast and unknowable, and her generation was likely the last to stand on solid ground. Rainy had done her best to ignore the gnawing sense of futility, but here, in the quiet of the mountains, it demanded her attention.
The light ahead glimmered like a promise. Yet, as she sat there, Rainy realized how easy it would be to lose herself in the shadows along the way. The gods of this world—the illusions of security, the distractions of temporary beauty—whispered for her to linger. To find contentment in the fleeting.
She had chased those distractions before, and they had always left her empty.
"I’ve made so many wrong choices," she whispered to the quiet forest. Her voice felt small, as if the trees themselves were listening, waiting for more. "So many times, I’ve avoided what I should’ve done. I’ve lingered when I should’ve pressed on. Who can save me from this constant pull of the shadows?"
The wind stirred the leaves, carrying her words upward. Rainy closed her eyes, letting the golden light beyond the trees burn itself into her mind. She knew the answer, even if she sometimes struggled to trust it.
There was only one who could guide her through the darkness, one who could pull her toward the light. He had walked this path before, cutting through shadows and carrying burdens far heavier than hers.
A single tear slipped down her cheek as she whispered a prayer, a quiet plea for strength and direction. She didn’t need to see the whole journey—just enough light for the next step.
The road waited, stretching toward the mountains’ hidden heights. Rainy stood, shouldered her pack once more, and began to climb, her steps slow but steady. The interplay of light and shadow danced around her, a reminder of the tension she carried within.
She thought about the children at home, the ones who would run barefoot in the village, repeating her tales long after she was gone. She thought about the world they would inherit, the challenges they would face. And then she thought about the light at the end of the road—the ultimate Light, the source of all beauty and meaning.
Rainy tightened her grip on the walking stick she had carved from a fallen branch. "The world is moving toward incredible light and overwhelming darkness," she said to herself, her voice firm. "But I’ll keep moving toward the light. No matter what."
As the path grew steeper, she felt a quiet resolve settle over her. She wasn’t just walking for herself—she was walking for them, for the children, for the hope they would need. For the faith she wanted to pass on.
The mountain’s chill nipped at her cheeks, but Rainy climbed higher, her heart warmed by the light that waited for her at the end of the road.
"The One Kind of Good"
It came to me quietly, as so many truths do.
The morning air was still, save for the restless voice of the wind. I stood alone in the tall grass, tea in hand, my feet damp with dew, and for a moment, the world opened. Not in sound or spectacle—but in feeling. A torrent of emotion swept through me so completely that I could do nothing but feel it.
It was joy. But more than that—it was a kind of ecstasy. So pure, so overwhelming, I almost laughed aloud. I wanted to leap into the sky.
Before me stretched miles upon miles of wild earth—clear at first, then fading into mist and memory. Mountains bled into plateaus, which fell away into desert, all of it dissolving into the sky. There was no way to hold it, no way to preserve it. So I did the only thing I could: I breathed it in. Deeply. As if I could fill my lungs with wonder itself.
And I thought, There is only one kind of good feeling.
We name it in many ways—delight, beauty, awe, love—but at its core, it is always the same. We feel it in the tickle of wind, the shock of cold water, the gentleness of a touch, the sweetness of a kiss. This is the feeling we chase, over and over. Not for greed. But for communion.
That good feeling—this capacity for deep, shimmering pleasure—seems to me a sacred gift. Perhaps the most human of gifts.
I wondered then, as birds sliced the sky like arrows and butterflies danced beside me: Do they feel it too? Do they know the wonder of their own flight?
Maybe. But I believe not as we do.
For it is we who shape meaning from it. We who ache, who long, who weep and rejoice and raise our voices to the sky in search of understanding. Without us, the world would still be glorious—but quiet. Like a song with no ears to hear it. We are not separate from this creation. We are part of it. An essential part.
Even in our struggle—even in our folly—we belong to the world, and it belongs to us.
And though we often stumble, I believe that we will, somehow, fulfill what we were meant to fulfill. Not through flawless design, but through our relentless pursuit of that single, shining feeling—the one kind of good that draws us, again and again, toward the very heart of all things.
--------------------------
Rainy stood at the upper edge of the forest, where the tree line thinned, then stopped. Her small village long since faded into the miles behind her. The road ahead stretched endlessly, winding through hills and valleys she had never seen before. In her heart, she carried a vision—a life beyond the confines of the only home she had ever known. It seemed so clear in her mind: a future where her dreams would take root and flourish. All she had to do was take the first steps, face the challenges, and see it through.
At first, it felt easy. The crisp air invigorated her, and the promise of freedom buoyed her spirits. But as the days wore on, the simplicity of her plan unraveled. The trail grew steep, and unfamiliar shadows lingered at the edges of her path. Every step brought new trials—some small, others overwhelming—until they layered upon one another, forming a weight she had never imagined.
The dreams that had once filled her heart with hope now felt distant, almost unreachable. She began to doubt herself. Could she truly find the life she longed for, or had she been chasing an illusion? The vision of freedom and adventure she’d cherished became a fragile thing, slipping through her fingers like water. The grand dreams of her journey turned into whispers, leaving her clinging to the faintest shred of belief.
There were moments, as she sat alone under a canopy of stars, when her doubts were all she could hear. She thought of the village she’d left behind, of her family and friends. What would they say if they could see her now, lost and unsure, a girl who had dreamed too big and ventured too far? The weight of her longing was unbearable—an ache for what might have been, and for the safety she had left behind.
But Rainy was not alone in her journey, not truly. Along the way, she met others walking their own winding roads. They shared their stories—of dreams that had lifted them, of struggles that had broken them, and of hopes that still flickered like fragile flames. In their voices, she found echoes of her own fears and courage.
As they parted ways, Rainy would cry for them, just as she cried for herself. The journey was hers to walk, but the knowledge that others faced the same darkness brought her a fragile kind of solace. They were all so small, so fleeting in the vastness of the world. Yet, in their shared struggle, in their stubborn hope, there was something precious. Rainy pressed on, carrying the quiet belief that even in the darkness, there was meaning in the journey.
Rainy tightened the strap of her pack and adjusted the weight of her walking stick. The trail ahead disappeared into the morning mist, a winding ribbon of dirt and stone that stretched beyond what her eyes could see.
There was someone who walked with her—not beside her, but in her mind. A man whose face she could not yet picture, whose voice was still a mystery. She did not know who he was, this man from her dreams, but she knew he waited for her somewhere on this road, and her quest would not end until she found him.
He wasn’t real—not yet—but she felt his presence like the echo of footsteps behind her. In her imagination, he was a kindred soul, someone who would listen to her stories with the wonder they deserved and share truths she hadn’t yet discovered. Perhaps he, too, was on his way to the Valley. Perhaps he would understand what drove her when no one else had.
Rainy’s mission was twofold. First, she sought the truth, though what form it would take she could not yet say, but it was the only truth. It was a longing, an unspoken question that pulled her forward like an invisible thread. Alongside this, she carried another purpose: stories. Her own and those of the people she hoped to meet. She was a teller of tales, a weaver of words, and she believed that stories held a power greater than swords or gold.
In the quiet moments, Rainy rehearsed the tales she would share when she finally found an audience. Stories of bravery and loss, of the stars that watched over her journey, of the strange and wonderful things she had begun to notice now that she had left the noise of the village behind. She told these stories to the wind, to the trees, and to the trail itself. Would they laugh at her tales? What tales would he tell? She couldn’t help but wonder if his voice would carry the truth she sought.
The dream of the nightscape, of the surging sea of souls was always in her mind, and so was he.
But the road was not an easy one. The terrain was unforgiving, and the nights were cold and long. At times, her purpose felt fragile, like the faint glow of her lantern in the dark. There were moments when she doubted her resolve, when the weight of her solitude pressed down on her like an invisible hand. She would sit by her fire, staring into the flickering flames, and wonder if she was chasing an illusion.
Still, she pressed on, clinging to the image of the man in her dreams and the truth she was certain awaited her. She knew she was moving toward something—something vast and important. Perhaps it was the stories she carried that kept her going. Perhaps it was the hope that, at the end of the road, she would find not just the truth but someone who would understand the depths of her heart.
For now, the journey was her companion. The stars were her witnesses, and the silence her confidant. Rainy walked onward, her footsteps steady, her tales ready to be told to the first kind soul she might meet. She didn’t yet know where the road would take her, but she was certain of one thing: the truth would reveal itself in time, and she would have her stories to guide her there.
Rainy adjusted her hood against the cool breeze and set her gaze firmly on the trail ahead. Her boots crunched over gravel and fallen leaves, the only sounds in a world that seemed to hold its breath. She had a destination—a place she had only heard of in whispers, a place few believed was real. The Valley of the Elder Children.
The stories spoke of it as a hidden sanctuary, where the air shimmered with ancient wisdom and truths were laid bare for those brave enough to seek them. Rainy’s heart ached for that truth. She wanted to understand why those she had left behind—her friends, her family, her village—seemed content to stay in ignorance. She had asked them even when she was young, trembling with hope: “Don’t you wonder? Don’t you want to know why we are here, where we are going?”
Their answers had been hesitant smiles, dismissive waves, and the sort of pity reserved for those who dream too much. “Rainy, the world is what it is. No need to trouble yourself with questions that can’t be answered.”
But she did trouble herself. It gnawed at her, this unrelenting desire to peel back the veil of the world and look at its core. She couldn’t understand why no one else seemed to care. Why did they laugh at her stories of a greater purpose? Why did they fear the idea of seeking something beyond their quiet lives? These questions had pushed her onto the trail, far from the safety of home, toward the Valley where she believed the answers waited.
The mountains loomed ahead, shrouded in mist and whispers of warnings—an ancient, forbidden place where few dared tread. But Rainy had no choice. She walked alone, her footsteps soft against the moss-covered path, her heart as heavy as her pack. It wasn’t just the weight of her supplies that slowed her—it was the haunting questions she carried, the ones that seemed to multiply with every step.
By the time she reached the end of the tree line, exhaustion finally overtook her. The path curved sharply upward, a steep climb that would demand strength she no longer felt she had. Rainy sighed and sat on a large, flat rock at the trail's edge, letting her pack slide from her shoulders.
Ahead, the road stretched into the distance, bathed in golden light that filtered through the canopy of tangled branches. Shafts of sunlight pierced the gloom, casting luminous patterns across the path. It looked as though the forest itself breathed light and shadow, leading toward something greater just beyond her sight.
Rainy let her head rest against the cool bark of a nearby tree, staring down the road. It reminded her of truth—bright, infinite, and just beyond reach. It’s brilliance was too much to bear directly, yet here it was, refracted through the brokenness of the world, filtered by the interplay of light and dark.
She had always believed beauty was born from that tension—the contrast of shadow and radiance, the moss-draped trees against the glow of a rising sun. But she also knew that this beauty only existed because of the light at the end of the road. Without that source, without light, the shadows would swallow everything, leaving only emptiness.
Rainy glanced at the journal she kept tucked in her jacket. She had come here seeking something—answers, maybe. Or perhaps just clarity. She had spent her days dreaming of the children’s laughter. It should have felt fulfilling, but a strange unease had settled in her heart.
She couldn’t shake the thought that her efforts were fleeting, that she was squandering time she didn’t truly own. The world felt like it was teetering on the edge of something vast and unknowable, and her generation was likely the last to stand on solid ground. Rainy had done her best to ignore the gnawing sense of futility, but here, in the quiet of the mountains, it demanded her attention.
The light ahead glimmered like a promise. Yet, as she sat there, Rainy realized how easy it would be to lose herself in the shadows along the way. The gods of this world—the illusions of security, the distractions of temporary beauty—whispered for her to linger. To find contentment in the fleeting.
She had chased those distractions before, and they had always left her empty.
"I’ve made so many wrong choices," she whispered to the quiet forest. Her voice felt small, as if the trees themselves were listening, waiting for more. "So many times, I’ve avoided what I should’ve done. I’ve lingered when I should’ve pressed on. Who can save me from this constant pull of the shadows?"
The wind stirred the leaves, carrying her words upward. Rainy closed her eyes, letting the golden light beyond the trees burn itself into her mind. She knew the answer, even if she sometimes struggled to trust it.
There was only one who could guide her through the darkness, one who could pull her toward the light. He had walked this path before, cutting through shadows and carrying burdens far heavier than hers.
A single tear slipped down her cheek as she whispered a prayer, a quiet plea for strength and direction. She didn’t need to see the whole journey—just enough light for the next step.
The road waited, stretching toward the mountains’ hidden heights. Rainy stood, shouldered her pack once more, and began to climb, her steps slow but steady. The interplay of light and shadow danced around her, a reminder of the tension she carried within.
She thought about the children at home, the ones who would run barefoot in the village, repeating her tales long after she was gone. She thought about the world they would inherit, the challenges they would face. And then she thought about the light at the end of the road—the ultimate Light, the source of all beauty and meaning.
Rainy tightened her grip on the walking stick she had carved from a fallen branch. "The world is moving toward incredible light and overwhelming darkness," she said to herself, her voice firm. "But I’ll keep moving toward the light. No matter what."
As the path grew steeper, she felt a quiet resolve settle over her. She wasn’t just walking for herself—she was walking for them, for the children, for the hope they would need. For the faith she wanted to pass on.
The mountain’s chill nipped at her cheeks, but Rainy climbed higher, her heart warmed by the light that waited for her at the end of the road.