GregorHe was a few hours from arriving and perhaps two days from the No-Moon festival; it was always hard to tell once the ever-present moons started dimming from the sky. It wouldnt be long until they would disappear and the cycle would start over again. Longing for human contact once more, if only for a short time until he was to depart and travel for the nineteen seasons until the next No-Moon festival, he kept the fastest pace his aging body would allow.This would be the sixth reunion of the original outcasts. Gregor could recall every meeting just about perfectly since they have been the only times he spent with his kin since Cerol had been sealed away behind the massive walls and gates. The first meetings had been just outside of the City of Fathers. Far enough away not to get shot at by the archers from their post on the high wall, yet just within viewing distance so they might remember the trips there they had made to visit family years prior to the wall being erected. Those early festival gatherings had the greatest turnout for the last remnants of the human race. Many returned from their posts among the other races to with reports from leaders, advisors and generals. Others had just rumors and gossip of the ongoings of the shortfolk or the woodland dwellers. Those were perhaps the happier days of their exile.As time progressed, fewer and fewer started showing to the meetings. Some suggest that they should be moved to the village they had claimed north of the elves forest. It had made the journey from the southern plains a bit longer but they all agreed it would be nice to return to something like a home they once had.Gregor recalled the village being similar to the one where he had lived before he took on his nomadic lifestyle. A group of houses all gathered around a central well and marketplace and surrounded by farmland. Many of the early villages took this form to keep all their citizens protected within a small, patrolled border.However, many of the homes were now empty, the market place was but a small playground for the unfortunate kids who lived during this time and the gathering hall was where most of the village bedded down at night. A small pitiful shell of the lively town that might have existed there many cycles before.None of that was Gregors concern now, for he only wished to meet with, maybe for the last time, his remaining kin. Over these last two festivals, besides those that had lived in the small town they now called Tiral, the Second Hope, the gathering of the original outcasts had been reduced to a small handful and he feared that even the few he had become fond of would not show.On his way in, Gregor usually made his way to one of the elf outposts where he would meet up with one of the few travelers who had come from his original village. However they had failed to show this year and Gregor was forced to move on unless he would miss the meeting and No-Moon festival.Gregor was edging along the fences of the old overgrown farms that had been there. He was always amazed how so many of the farmers could just leave their fields unharvested and forsook their livelihood to go to Cerol on the word of Mother. Then again Gregor had done the same thing, although he wasnt a farmer, and left everything he had to join his kin at Mothers whim. Perhaps he had been too slow when walking or fate had just decided that he was not worthy of joining Mothers grand city.Tiral was now in view, in moments he would be able to hear cheering from the children at play and moments after that see his kin once more.