Children stop by my caravan from time to time. There's a special place in my heart for native children. They're beautiful young souls. Just like every other race I suppose, but the mother within me has made a sincere appearance only since I moved to the village. The child in me has collected a large array of craft supplies. And the children outside come in to adventure through it all and inspire their own imaginations. I love them, each and every one. Ever since I was thirteen, I knew that a part of my greater plan was to be a foster mother and to ultimately adopt. Sometimes fate works in odd ways, and I have known for quite some time now that the reason I was brought to this village was to have my eyes opened to the orphaned native kids. For, the few that are taken away, typically come from drunken broken homes and will be moved away from their culture to a bigger city. The families are usually large and the siblings will be handed out amongst different households. Tears fill my eyes each time the thought arises in my heart. I would give anything to make a small impact- be a mother to as many as possible. House them on their native land. Teach them the love of a sober home. If, by some odd twist of financial goodness, I am stable at the age of twenty-one (when one can begin the fostering process), I will undoubtedly take up the responsibility that I have been waiting half of my life to have.
