Young Writers Society

Homesickness. It is not an unusual feeling to have, she supposes. But it is the biggest enemy to a life of a travel, the life of an adventurer. It’s with that thought that she nods seriously and takes another hard bite of her food.
You should have said goodbye to your mother.
The thought aches, suddenly, though it, for some reason unknown to her, has never come into her mind her entire journey.
Why did you not say goodbye to your mother?
She can see, now, in her mind’s eye, her mother’s smiling face. Gentle, warm, welcoming. Her mother always smelled like sugar and wet clay, and had always been strangely comforting to her. In her memory, her mother stops whatever it was she had been working on and turns to offer her a hug. Her arms and hands are covered in small, pale scars, but somehow that makes Azalee feel more confident -- as if her mother is strong enough to weather even the hardest world and still come back on top.
I know why, Azalee answers herself, but still hesitates. She would have stopped me.
She can see the devastation in her mother’s eyes, can hear her pleading in her mind.
And I had to go. For both of us to survive.