What I know about Where I've been

It must have been about 8 summers ago when I was last with the caravan. They were my family. We travelled all along Europe, seeing the sites, meeting people, living off the land. I couldn't imagine any other kind of lifestyle. I was surrounded by my family, and my extended family, and everyday we travelled, not knowing where until we were there. During the day, we'd find villages and fellow travellers and attempt to make some coin with our talents. We practiced tarot readings, sight into the crystal ball, and other fortune telling techniques. I learned the Sight very slowly, even though I found it interesting. To this day, I'm always reluctant to pull out my crystal ball. Some of the gypsy men were great at pickpocketing, and we would cheer them for bringing bread to our tables. Being a gypsy is about bringing out the gullibility of people and taking advantage of that. Don't tell anyone I said that, of course. The nights were the best times, because I would sit on my Uncle Tio's lap and he would tell me stories of dragons and knights in shining armor, of sea serpents that would create waves higher than any man could see, of beasts that had only one eye, but are dumber than dirt. These stories brought me to places I never imagined. We'd light a huge bonfire, and everyone would pull out an instrument and play. Those that weren't playing instruments would dance around, casting shadows in the fire. We were really happy people, and they were some of the best memories I had of my youth. I look back now, and I've see how far I've come, and realize that my youth is surely slipping away.

Jump to Romania, the caravan is camped for the night, bonfire is built, but my Uncle Tio is very sick. The others tell me to watch over him, to sit by his side just in case he needs anything. This of course, I don't mind doing, but it does get dull after awhile since he was sleeping. I'm not quite sure what was wrong with him, but he was coughing up blood, and so the caravan had set his wagon at the edge of camp for quarantine. As he slept and snored, little coughs here and there, I fidgetted and sang to myself, played with my hair, and even polished my crystal ball til it was immaculate. But then I heard something, something that sounded like metal upon metal. I peered out the little box window into the dark woods, and saw a few flashes of blue light. What harm could come stretching my legs and investigating? So I tucked in Uncle Tio and slipped out of the wagon, running through the woods towards the sounds I was hearing.

Getting a little closer, I noticed there were about a half a dozen men around a fire hitting each other with swords. My caravan was out of sight from this point, not even the light from our bonfire could be seen in the reflection of the trees. These men weren't harming each other though, so I presumed they were doing some sort of training. Sweat beaded on their skin, and they grunted with the exertion of their techniques. I was enraptured. Uncle Tio had spoken of so many brave men who saved damsels in distress and killed horrid beasts. These must be the knights he had spoken of!! I hid behind a tree for what must have been almost an hour, being my most quiet and watching their movements. They eventually stopped their training, and I took the opportunity to run back to the caravan... Actually, I pranced and skipped. Just seeing these men made all of Uncle Tio's stories true.

I sneak back into the wagon, and plopped down on the cushioned chair next to Uncle Tio's bed. I was so lost in thought at this point.

"They're real, Uncle, they really are," I whisper to myself. "This changes everything."

I look over to my dear Uncle and his face looks odd. It's flaxen, taught and still. I moved over to him, slowly at first, then realizing what had happened. He was gone from this world. If I had stayed in the wagon, he might have survived.

The caravan burned his wagon with him in it. It is ritual when one of our people die. The wagon gave off explosion after explosion from the fire, giving me explosion after explosion of tears. This was the saddest day of my life. I think so sadder can overcome it.

From that point, I chose to leave the caravan. Not because I was shamed for leaving my Uncle in his dying moments, but because he would have wanted me to see his stories with my own eyes. I am welcome back to my caravan at any time, pending finding it of course, but I'm not ready yet.