My name is Teren. I am one of the known. We don't know how many there are. I'm what we call a tracker. I left the tribe two moons ago with Caleb and Jacob. They are with me now asleep under the moon. I do not keep a record other than my mental observations, most paper and writing tools were lost many years ago. We stopped counting the years after 2044. That's ancient history. We pass down our wisdom now verbally, and through stories.

  We live in the wilderness by a river in a valley. We call the forest Vastness, and we call the river Giving and the valley we call Humble. These were the names given by the first elders of the last era.

  The last era was a period of global turmoil and great civil disruption in Canada and America. Quite simply there was chaos. The world economy crashed before the wars began. Twenty two nuclear bombs were dropped among five nations, that we know of. Ottawa was the only city in Canada that suffered the consequences of nuclear war. Money and gold became worthless. Gas stations dried up quickly. Food became scarce. And people couldn't reconcile their differences. We don't know how many have survived, but we've made cordial agreements with three other neighboring tribes to stay off each other’s land except for conferences every spring.

  As I have stated Caleb, Jacob and I are trackers for our tribe, Ataraxia, which means untroubledness. Our role as trackers is to venture out from Vastness in search of relics and medicine and seeds. Last trip we headed east and we were gone almost eight moons. We returned with sleds full of first aid kits and medical supplies and flutes and an acoustic guitar with copious amounts of additional strings. And we found all kinds of books of stories and history. And rods for fishing, and tents. And seeds for planting fruits and herbs and vegetables. We got lucky that time. Normally we are lucky to fill one sled. Unfortunately we have seen no such things this trip as of yet.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  It is almost spring, sometime around what they used to call March. We don’t bother giving the passing of moons names anymore. We concern ourselves with the growing season and the coming of snow. We’ve been told by the elders that despite the chaos which delivered us our fortune, life is much simpler now than it was before the world fell and that in fact, for the survivors, it is a blessing.

  We love to tell stories and perform plays for each other and play instruments, the relics we’ve discovered. Mostly flutes and drums, but occasionally a working acoustic guitar. The problem with guitars, however, is broken strings, but we find them too sometimes. Guns…

  Guns are evil. That is what we’ve learned from the elders. Trackers have been specially trained to handle weaponry, and when we find firearms or explosives we take care to deliver them back to the elders. The hunters have been trained to use them for hunting animals for food, but normally we set traps, and the guardians have been trained to use them as a last resort for protection.

  We believe in living a peaceful, quiet life. We believe in procreation and the responsible upbringing of our children. We don’t want to reclaim the earth, we don’t even want to engage with our neighbors. All we want is for Ataraxia to live in harmony in the forest Vastness, next to the river Giving, in the valley of Humble. Which is where this story will begin.