Hopeless . . .

     Nom-Mee said, “My pain goes deeper than my new heart.  It is my soul, Klon.  My soul is not clean.  It is beyond help.  There is no hope.”
     Wee-One woke screaming.  She was inconsolable.  Members of the bevy sought Dweller, but he could not be found.  She kept repeating, “No hope, no hope, there is no hope for me.”
     Traveler awoke to the commotion and began looking for Mal-Nai.  His search was in vain for he instinctively knew where she was.  Mal-Nai had required refuge in her spot under the bed as she repetitively stated the familiar phrase, “I am safe, I am safe, I am safe . . .”
     Lan-Oea arose and found she was alone in the cottage.  The familiar feeling came deep in her stomach.  She dare not think it.  Not this time, He promised.  She knew he was real.
His very heart caused the lifeblood to course through her body.  How . . . how . . . how could it be true?  Yet, she looked around and she, indeed, was . . . ALONE.  This time no waterfall could be a refuge.
     At a lost, Lan-Oea gathered her pack and weapons to forge on the path.  “I must save the others on my own.”  The trek seemed different this time.
     Lan-Oea continued her nightly hike and then stumbled falling.  For the first time, she could not find the strength to stand.  She tried once, twice, finding a boulder nearby, she leaned against it.  She pushed harder, pulling, tugging, struggling, but failing.  She yelled out, “THERE IS NO HOPE.  WHAT HOPE IS THERE FOR SOMEONE LIKE ME?”  Finally, in desperation, she yelled to no one in particular, “So, I guess this means Rock Monster wins since I have no strength to go forth!  Your promises mean NOTHING!”
     Her feet less steady, she could not find her balance.  Once again, she wished for her m’looks.  She stumbled and the contents of her pack strewed across the path in front of her.
     Lan-Oea attempted and failed numerous times to stand.  Finally, she crawled about gathering the insides of her rucksack carefully replacing each.  One by one, she mindlessly returned the items.  Until her hands touched them . . . could it be . . . really . . . they have been here all along?
     She slipped her m’looks on her deformed feet and stood.  Loading the remainder of her belongings, she still felt discouraged, with the feeling of rejection in the pit of her stomach . . .