Question

Prologue
repetation
Long before we arrived, long before any of us arrived, a different people lived
here. I feel Them here with me, watching, waiting, wary as the wind rustles
through the trees and the river chatters over the lumpy pebbles.
We live close to a crossing; a shallow point in the river. It's not a road exactly
but
you can tell somehow that it was once a well-trodden path – the easiest way
across the river. We use the bridge now, where the cars and trucks crash by never
noticing the old way. But I spend my time here, in the woods, sitting on the bank
or following the way deep into the hills.
Sometimes I find things, things that tell me about Them. Sometimes I wonder if
They leave them for me to find. A tiny carving of an animal – hard to tell what
sort now – but tiny and perfectly carved from bone, I think. A pile of stones in a
ring fused by time and weather into the ground. Holes gouged out of rock in a
pattern, as if for a game of sorts. A painting on the rocks, faded but there.
Sometimes I know They are watching me, waiting for me to come and They walk
with me as I venture further and further from where I know. One day, perhaps I
will go too far but I trust they will always lead me home ..

what could be its genre​

Answer 1

Answer:

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