Ground rules

From the hill the tramp could see for miles. But he could not find the hut or a camp.

“At a loss. Another lost.” The tramp rubbed his neck. “But it seems to me, that since I don’t remember where I’ve left my home and you don’t remember where you left your people, that maybe we should go find a new home and new people. Or perhaps an old one and no one, depending on the quality of each.”

The pony took careful steps closer. The tramp held out his hand.

“Nothing in it, for now,” he said. “But I’ve a knack for filling it and the other. Two hands should be enough to fill the two mouths between us. Anyway, it’s a symmetry pleasing enough for the claim to be true.”

The tramp walked down the hill a ways and turned back. He gestured to the distant valley shoulder. “To the rocks?” he said.

The pony followed.

The tramp nodded. “In that case, let’s set some ground rules. I promise not to press you for how you lost your way if you promise not to ask how I myself became detached. What’s another layer in the sediments of the past but a guarantee of surer footing?”

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