The Wanderer - Part One
Deep within the hills and cliffs of a long forgotten land a Wanderer travels through a thickly wooded forest. Days of walking caused the fresh wounds beneath the poorly dressed bandages to bleed through his kimono. On his back he carried a rusted sword concealed in a tattered sheath. The blade did not belong to the sheath, much as he did not belong in the peaceful hills he traveled. Purple flowers fluttered down from the trees, adorning the path he walked with their beauty, but not one petal landed on him.
As he walked past a bend in the path a clearing opened in front of him. Like a diamond in the rough, a modest temple sat at the opposite edge of the clearing. Every step he took began to feel like he was falling towards the temple. With fatigue gripping him tightly his vision blurred with every step. Closer now, he could see a Priestess sweeping the steps of the shrine. He stumbled, fixated on the Priestess, the exhaustion and excitement of seeing the vision before him becoming intoxicating. As she locked eyes on him his pain slipped away, as if shedding threadbare garments. The Priestess froze as the Wanderer approached. He reached the edge of the shrine and the Priestess dropped her broom simultaneously as the Wanderer collapsed.
His senses began to return to him with the sensation of his eyelids burning; it was all he could do to force them open. There, at the end of a modest bed of straw he saw the Priestess preparing soup. Her caution had given way to compassion, he would never truly fathom what a difficult feat this was for her. But he was grateful that she had. Seeing that the Wanderer was now awake she brought forth a wooden bowl and spoon and positioned herself to feed him.
“No,” he muttered. “I can’t.”
“You need your strength.” She whispered, forcing the spoon into his mouth.
“I can’t,” he said with bits of carrot in his mouth. “I can’t take your food.”
“Well,” she said, with a devious smile. “I made enough for two, and I’ve already eaten. So if you make me throw this away I will be most upset.”
As he tried to reposition himself for his meal the blanket slid off his chest. All of the bandages he had dressed himself with had been replaced with clean white bandages. Each one wrapped with surgical precision, even his skin had been washed clean. His feeble attempts at modesty only result in further exposure. A wry smile crept across the Priestess’ lips as her vermilion eyes sparkled with delight. Spoonful after spoonful of soup slowly crossed the Wanderer’s lips until only the sounds of wood scraping upon wood was left in the bowl. The Priestess gathered up the bowls and set them to rest in a large tub of water. Returning to the bedside she began laying out a thin blanket on the frigid stone floor.
“Priestess, no,” he whispered, attempting to get up. “I cannot let you sleep on the floor, you belong in this bed, not I.”
“You can barely move, let alone crawl,” she whispered back in her softest voice. “I cannot allow you to sleep on the floor either.”
She settled herself at his side and gazed into his dark, weary eyes. Through drooping eyelids she could see into his heart, that he meant her no harm, and had only the most honorable of intentions. Without an exchange of words the Wanderer moved as much as he could to give his host a place to sleep. She gladly took a place beside him on the bed. When she pulled the blanket close the Wanderer draped his arm over hers. As the Priestess’ rhythmic breathing synced up with the sounds of the night, the Wanderer leaned forward and kissed her bare shoulder before concealing it. Sinking into the bed he slipped into unconsciousness never knowing of the smile worn by a Priestess pretending to sleep.
PART TWO (click here)
Exile
Original_exile@hotmail.com
As he walked past a bend in the path a clearing opened in front of him. Like a diamond in the rough, a modest temple sat at the opposite edge of the clearing. Every step he took began to feel like he was falling towards the temple. With fatigue gripping him tightly his vision blurred with every step. Closer now, he could see a Priestess sweeping the steps of the shrine. He stumbled, fixated on the Priestess, the exhaustion and excitement of seeing the vision before him becoming intoxicating. As she locked eyes on him his pain slipped away, as if shedding threadbare garments. The Priestess froze as the Wanderer approached. He reached the edge of the shrine and the Priestess dropped her broom simultaneously as the Wanderer collapsed.
His senses began to return to him with the sensation of his eyelids burning; it was all he could do to force them open. There, at the end of a modest bed of straw he saw the Priestess preparing soup. Her caution had given way to compassion, he would never truly fathom what a difficult feat this was for her. But he was grateful that she had. Seeing that the Wanderer was now awake she brought forth a wooden bowl and spoon and positioned herself to feed him.
“No,” he muttered. “I can’t.”
“You need your strength.” She whispered, forcing the spoon into his mouth.
“I can’t,” he said with bits of carrot in his mouth. “I can’t take your food.”
“Well,” she said, with a devious smile. “I made enough for two, and I’ve already eaten. So if you make me throw this away I will be most upset.”
As he tried to reposition himself for his meal the blanket slid off his chest. All of the bandages he had dressed himself with had been replaced with clean white bandages. Each one wrapped with surgical precision, even his skin had been washed clean. His feeble attempts at modesty only result in further exposure. A wry smile crept across the Priestess’ lips as her vermilion eyes sparkled with delight. Spoonful after spoonful of soup slowly crossed the Wanderer’s lips until only the sounds of wood scraping upon wood was left in the bowl. The Priestess gathered up the bowls and set them to rest in a large tub of water. Returning to the bedside she began laying out a thin blanket on the frigid stone floor.
“Priestess, no,” he whispered, attempting to get up. “I cannot let you sleep on the floor, you belong in this bed, not I.”
“You can barely move, let alone crawl,” she whispered back in her softest voice. “I cannot allow you to sleep on the floor either.”
She settled herself at his side and gazed into his dark, weary eyes. Through drooping eyelids she could see into his heart, that he meant her no harm, and had only the most honorable of intentions. Without an exchange of words the Wanderer moved as much as he could to give his host a place to sleep. She gladly took a place beside him on the bed. When she pulled the blanket close the Wanderer draped his arm over hers. As the Priestess’ rhythmic breathing synced up with the sounds of the night, the Wanderer leaned forward and kissed her bare shoulder before concealing it. Sinking into the bed he slipped into unconsciousness never knowing of the smile worn by a Priestess pretending to sleep.
PART TWO (click here)
Exile
Original_exile@hotmail.com
posted by exile at
3/20/2006 07:57:00 PM
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