The cry of a raven wakes me, and I find myself in a bleak forest. By the smell in the air, bare trees and the layer of frost, it must be mid fall.
Trying to sit up, a dull ache rushes to behind my eyes and my right shoulder. Managing to roll just before collapsing back to mother earth. A second attempt allows me to stand, and now on uneasy legs I gather my meager belongings and my sword.
Finding my way along a treeline, under a cold and grey sky, I peer out over what I'm sure was once a wheat field, to a cropping of pine trees, a plume of white smoke.
Traveling, as quick as my battered form will let me, deep into this sea of evergreens. The sound of the brown needles crunch beneath my boots as the wind swishes through the trees. Then finally a stream. Dropping to my knees, the mud harder than I expected. Both hands pulling the crisp water to my face, shocked at first and then revitalized. I dink handful after handful. Not realizing how thirsty I was, pausing to catch my breath, kneeling in the cold mud, feeling the water run down my chin and neck. Looking at my reflection in the water, seeing a weary young man with a gash over his left eye..
Carefully I clean myself as best as I can.
Feeling a little steadier, I continue toward where I saw the smoke. Every step bringing me closer, my mind a flurry, where the hell am I? , how did I get here?, how did I get hurt?
Coming to a clearing, I see a small, cottage, stone and log, with a thatch roof. The smoke ,lazily, drifting from the chimney. Quickly, looking around, I draw my sword and close to the door.
Listening before pulling it open, a wave of warmth hits me, and I am drawn in. The only light, coming from the fireplace. A stewpot bubbling, dry herbs hang from the wall and rafters. A few pieces of simple furniture, a table, a few stools, furs and skins of wolf and deer. Two other rooms with a bed each and a chest, little else.
Staggering back to the first room, beginning to sway. Maybe I have pushed myself too hard, too fast. The heat, the cut above my eye, this damned pain. Squinting, bringing my hands to my face, a lightness to my thoughts.
Barely feeling the thud of meeting the floor, I fall into a well of darkness.
Whispers filling the air as shadows pass over me, hands piling and grabbing. The heat building around me, feeling like I'm drowning, being swallowed, silent screams, my heart pounding .
Launching up, eyes trying to adjust, feeling warm hands on my bare chest. Panting and gasping, eyes coming to focus on...an angel?
Soft eyes meet mine, words like never had I heard before. All I understand is the sound "...shhhhhhhh..."So soothingly and suggestive that I have no choice but to lean back. watching her , hands pulling the blanket up over me, just to my chin. Then raising one hand to her face, forking her
fingers, drawing them over her eyes so that the lids fall, and then placing the palms together and at one side of her head.
Following her instruction, I drift back to sleep. For the first time in I can't remember when, I dreamed. Images filled my head, places I'd been to, persons I knew, far away lands like never thought of, magical and mystical and all apparently to be part of my destiny. Eventually the angel appeared in a crowd of strangers who seemed to know me as well. If I could put pen to paper to chronicle the incredible events and wondrous places I saw in that dream, I would surely be inscribing it for the rest of my days.
The dream did pause from time to time and I would hear whispers and sounds I could not make out.
Finally a sound I knew came to my ears. A sound I had heard almost everyday. It was repeated over and over again. first starting slow, a determined grinding, followed by a long fluid stroke, ending in a sudden silence, in endless repetition.
Opening my eyes, looking across that same room I collapsed in those many hours before. A visage of an older man, sitting at the table, slowly and methodically drawing a whet stone over the edge of my gladius, humming quietly.
Lifting my blanket to see that , except for a bandage over my shoulder, I have been stripped bare. Though my movement was slight, they did not escape his eyes. Continuing with his manual motion, barely lifting and eyebrow, he calls out some words.
In the doorway for the back room stood the angel. She approached
with soundless steps, like a cat. Nearing me, only to get so close, until he old man said a single word, stopping her in her tracks.
Reluctantly she obeys and returns to the table, to speak to him in whispers. I know not the language, but the meaning is clear.
While they spoke, I reached back over my shoulder, running my fingertips atop the bandage. Still quite sensitive, I wince when my curiosity gets the better of me. The older man nonchalantly lifts up a small object from the table top. even with just the fire light , it was easy to focus on the barbed arrow head, held between his fingers.
Through parched lips, I bid him thanks for his kindness. Foreign words but common sentiment. I am received with a smile and knowing nod.
The angel returned to her backroom activities, and as I righted myself, a rumble from my belly brought another smile to my benevolent host.
More words and the angel hurries back and over with a bowl of steaming stew and a crust of bread. With great caution she held it out at arms length. Our eyes meeting briefly, as fingertips touched and only too quickly did she look away, before I could thank her.
