My first try took almost a decade. I just walked along, no prep, not worried about rushing. I wasn't used to that much walking then, and rested often. By my third, I was down to about four years. My personal best, I got down to two years, 97 days, 11 hours. Not a world record, but I'm no fan of getting to much attention. Which is why I was surprised when I stumbled on... stories, art, a sort of... fandom feels too small a word, but religion is the next one that comes to mind, and that's far beyond this.

A couple-three cycles back, I stumbled across a cairn or something. It had a pair of worn mocs I'd left out here, and a crude drawing of me. Middle of, I think, Mongolia. Maybe Kafiristan. Or New Jersey for all I know. I copied down the text and found someone to translate, in a the next city on my route. "Wandering Watcher," she'd said, then she stared at me. I said an awkward goodbye and started out the door, but she grabbed me in a hug. It lasted too long, especially since I didn't return it.

That was my first time where I had no idea why people knew me. I have friendly families I stop by some times. Folks I've known for 6 or 7 generations. Actually, probably more, being honest. But strangers? I rarely see them twice, much less leave an impression. Unfortunately, I was too shaken by the hug and just bolted out when she let go. I debated going back, but what do you say after an interaction like that?

A few months later, in, like Prussia or Denmark or something, I'm ambling through the woods and see a large carving, a life-sized wooden statue of me. Definitely me. The scars on my face from father's blade, the missing pinky on my left hand. It was truly impressive, and truly unsettling. I don't like attention. Worse, there were signs of age, it was at least a few decades old, but it was cleaned, not a one and done symbol of adoration, but something maintained out here.

As I kept walking, I kept finding more and more. It was, as an immortal, something like seeing a prominent wanted poster with your face on it. See, I'm not the only one of us. Well, I wasn't the only one of us. I hope I'm still not the o ly one, but it's hard to say. It's been a long time since any of them contacted me, and even then, I only set things up with maybe a half dozen. We didn't want to risk a weak will dooming our race. We maybe immortal, but that's no comfort if you get dropped in the ocean. Or a volcano. Or buried under a superstructure.

I started walking because I got tired of faking my death. The blasted scars make me pretty obvious, so I'd just disappear, lie low for a century or so, but sometimes a man gets bored. With the walking, well, no one sees you twice, and you don't do anything to make folks hunt you down, you don't need to hide. At least, that was the idea. Instead, I'm a cryptid-esque folk tale. All over.

So, I'm gonna lie low for a century. Maybe more. Bandages on the face if I gotta go out. And a glove with a fake pinky. Just to be safe. And make sure I pack some tamales. And goat biryani. Yeah, I'll be fine.

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