Some Time

"You know you want the little shy one in the corner - he tickles your fancy, I suspect..." The Wanderer thought this over, reciting the words of his madness in his head. He supposed it was true, him being shy, but he had no idea why this thought sprang up. Perhaps his body was finally moving on. The words continued floating up into his mind from his vast memory, but he ignored them, more interested in memories and thoughts that lay just beneath the smoldering ruin of his mind.
Clouds and rain, and vehicles that run of fuels no longer available to the Wanderer. But, he supposed, there was no need for fuel where there were no cars. The woman. The woman crept back into his mind, up from some distant memory, as usual. She stood knee deep in water, washing her hair in the deep, nye imprenetrable heat of high summer. Her face was tanned as well as her arms, from long hours toiling over this and taht under that goldern orb. It was a secluded water, he could see; one with no impurities such as humanity's wastes to pollute its surface.
Calm... Calm...
The Wanderer felt a warm tear streak down his cheek, plowing through ten thousand years of dust and grime, leaving an unwrinkled swath of skin unprotected from the sun's inexaustable heat. The wanderer marveled at his emotions, stirred once again to the point of tears, as they had only once before. The last time he had creid, it had been when the first vision of this woman came to him - when she was born. The reason he had been so stireed this time, was undoubtedly because she had moved on once again, to womanhood, free from her childhood games, and her adolescance just a thought brushed away by something so much greater.
More tears made their way down the Wanderer's soily skin, carving trenches into the dirt.
"Has it been that long? Fifteen, tweny years? Already? You grew so fast, heavenly sweet, if only my madness were nos so vile as to get into my thoughts of you, I believe I'd trust my self to venture that god has given you a purpose, as he has me. To stay on this earth through a dozen plagues, and half so many cataclysms."
He sighed, and said, "I believe he has decided, finally, that I must find you, for that is how I feel in my heart. Perhaps he feels you are in danger, perhaps there is a great scheme at work, of evil, or good. However these things work out, I'll not rest until I find you."
The words were swept from him by a warm noon breeze, they took his words, and snatched them away before even he had a chance to hear them...
The Wanderer stood from his place of rest - A rock which had proven a stalwart aid in for the last ten thousand years - and began walking, the sun beating down upon him, daring him to defy it's awesome power...