Look at the huts rushing. Either the wind is pushing them, or they are running downhill. Their hooves are clattering, and they run, they won’t wait, and they won’t tire out. Someone has been living in one of the booths for a long time, the other one has been filled with all kinds of trash and set on its way, and Gooma happens to follow the same path. Wherever the way takes it.

This journey has no goal. But it would be nice to look at the sea. To raise the sail of a light boat and get as far from the coast as possible. Finally, to take a breath of the salty air.

But for now, the hooves are clattering, the booth is rocking, and the entire herd is rushing wherever luck takes it.