There isn't much to do out here. I am trapped in my own thoughts. I find myself looking back at my life and I am realizing there isn't much to think about. 

I cannot get Sibyl's face from my head when I told her she would be captain and I was leaving. There was disappointment, she said I had been a good captain and had no reason to leave, but there was something else too. 

Some people know what they were born to do. She could taste Captain and knew it was only a matter of time. Now that it was happening, she was not surprised. She was not excited. She simply was. That was her destiny and she knew it as the tongue knows the back of the teeth. 

She was not searching as I am. She already knew. 

Someone told me once that our destiny searches for us as we search for it. Eventually, you find each other like old lovers. For my whole life, I was convinced my destiny was to kill the six-fingered man. Now, as I wander the countryside and wonder when it will snow, that idea sits cold in my stomach. 

How could that be my destiny when I still feel I have so much life left? 

I think about Wesley and Buttercup. I think about how much he sacrificed and how hard he fought for her. I think about how his purpose, his reason, was to live for love. 

I do not have that. 

Sibyl's destiny was Captain. Wesley's was love. Mine is what? To wander forever and want to scream at the sky because I cannot remember its name? That seems silly.

Sometimes when I sit by the fire, I think of Giulietta. I wonder if my destiny could be love like Wesley's. But I know the thought is silly. We met so long ago and someone of her status would surely be married and a mother by now. 

Still, I think of how her hand felt in mine. The way her skirts swayed in the candle light as we danced. The way her hand felt against my cheek as she traced the light scars there. The way she said "I love you too" and how that lit up my world. She haunts my dreams and sometimes in the hazy light of morning, I see her silhouette just ahead of me. She's my Spanish Mirage. 

But what is Destiny anyway? Is it God leading our lives to the end? Is it the universe guiding me to... what? Live? Create? Fulfill something greater than myself? 

What could be greater than slaying the evil that was Count Rugen?  Oh, how he was a coward. I spent my whole life training to fight against the greatest swordsman in the world and when I finally met him and delivered my line, he ran. 

I remember leaning against the wall, dagger in my stomach, and thinking "this is it and I have failed my father." But the anger, the need for revenge, the desire to avenge my father, put strength in my legs and I stood. I stuffed my hand against my stomach to stop my intestines from falling out (as I had told my master I would do if ever stabbed in the gut) and pressed on. 

Everything inside of me, everything I had worked for, everything I was had woven itself into that moment. I gave him every wound he gave me. I filled him with cold fear. I watched him beg for his life. I ran him through. And in that moment, I was truly alive. 

But moments do not last forever. I find myself unsatisfied, still searching for a mystery called Destiny because what is the point if I have already found and accomplished it?