Whether you travel with purpose or wander aimlessly, a journey has a beginning and an end. It does not matter whether you ride a galloping stallion, sat upon a swaying wagon or stride forward with nought but your own two feet. There may be stops along the way, but a journey is always moving from one place to another regardless of motive or method.
Sometimes there is a detour.
Whether forced or blissful of the fact, something will occur during your journey and you find yourself taking a path least expected. For good or ill you may even find yourself bound for a different destination from the one you intended to reach, though it remains a journey regardless of how intentional it was or what choice may have been taken.
This is a journey that you probably never expected or even asked for.
The mist arose slowly at first, its thin tendrils lazily seeping through the air, gradually forming wispy vines round your limbs. You first begin to notice the mist when the colour from her surrounds appears to have been leached away and a heavy chill hangs in the air. Dread strikes you as the mist closes round you, almost suffocating you in its embrace. For one disconcerting moment it feels as though you're suspended by absolute...nothingness.
Then your foot feels solid ground beneath it once more and the mist begins to recede, the world materializing back into existence around you as you find yourself stood on a grass-covered wagon rut. More of your new surroundings are revealed, a low stone wall and a wooden signpost bearing words you do not recognise. Soon you find this lonely track lies amidst desolate and mist-shrouded moorland, a faint and feeble glow some distance down the track offers a faint hope of civilisation.
You also realize that you aren't alone on the track for there are others, seemingly as equally disoriented as you are, but none bare a familiar face nor garb.
This is not the journey that you set out upon.
What are you doing?