His visit with his grandfather was his favourite part of the summer holidays. Three weeks with the man and his cottage stuffed to the brim with all kinds of interesting trinkets. Swords, what kind of grandfather had real life, hand forged swords hanging above their fireplace? Only his grandfather did. Then there was the sheep skin rug that lay in front of the fireplace. Soft and cozy, like any fleece, a perfect place to sit on cold Christmases, only this sheep had had golden fur. His grandfather had promised him it was not dyed.
It wasn't only his things that made his grandfather's home such an interesting place, it was his pictures. Pictures, so many pictures littered the wooden walls of every room and every hall. There were the ones of him and his parents, aunts, uncles and cousins. They were not the ones he was fascinated with; after all he had the same ones back at his own home. The ones he liked to look at were the ones of his grandfather and his friends. He had always had the same six friends.
There were pictures of them from high school, when his grandfather was scrawny and awkward, pictures of him at university when he filled out into a man, pictures of him at his wedding dressed in suit along with the four men of his friends. There were silly group pictures, everyone with different animal hats, or the one where they all had beards, even the two women had strapped on some fake ones. There were pictures of their families together at thanksgivings, Christmases and countless other barbeques. Pictures from adventures all over the world, the most recent addition was from their trip to Spain just last spring.
His grandfather's life was documented through the pictures on his walls. His life was rich and full. No one had done as many things as his grandfather. No one had as many stories, wild with unbelievable events. More than all of that, no one was as happy as his grandfather. Not a single photograph depicted him with anything less than an ear to ear grin. His pictures were filled with laughter and continuous company. If he could lead a life half of that as his grandfather it would be more fulfilled than most.
The sun's rays had just spilled into the valley where the cottage was nestled when his grandfather emerged from his bedroom. He was wearing his usual khakis with reinforced knees and tweed jacket, already dressed ready for the day.
"That's my boy," his grandfather said, ruffling his dark hair as he passed him on the way to the door, "Awake with the sun." He followed his grandfather to the landing, taking his cue to slip on his runners when his grandfather began lacing up his hiking boots. Before he stepped outside into the new morning his grandfather wrapped his hand around the gnarled piece of wood leaning against the wall beside the door. The walking stick was a good fit in his hand, the joints in his bony fingers and thumbs matching the look of the knots in the wood. He took up his own walking stick from the floor where it had fell, a branch he had scavenged near the beginning of his visit.
His grandfather had long strides, quick for a man on his age. There was no slouch in his posture, no limp in his leg, no question when his foot met the heather. His grandfather was not a particularly tall man, but he held himself as if he were a giant. He studied his grandfather's walk in vigor, placing his feet in the grasses and flowers where his grandfather had placed his. He mimicked the swing that the flick in his wrist created in his walking stick.
They stopped at the edge of the field, his grandfather's cabin off in the distance beside the yellow shimmer of sun on the lake. Tapping a little plant with the edge of his walking stick his grandfather lifted up a small red berry from under the serrated leaves. The berry was no bigger than his thumbnail. His grandfather looked to him and asked, "Do you know what this is, my boy?"
"It looks like a strawberry Grandpa, but it's much too small," he said. A wolfish smile transformed his face under the white stubble of his beard. His eyes as dark as the bitter coffee he drank glimmered with mischief under his green tinted glasses.
"That's exactly what it is," he said and knelt to pick it, "This is how the strawberry is naturally. Genetic selection gave us the ones in the grocery store."
His grandfather was a walking encyclopedia. There was nothing he did not know. His mind was quick and sharp. It could calculate problems to their answer before he could even enter it into a calculator. He took the berry from his grandfather, but before he popped it into his mouth he asked, "What is genetic selection?"
"Genes," he said as he collected more and more of the berries, "they make up everything that lives. They decide what colour your eyes are, and your hair, and your skin. Slowly, over generations and generations, farmers picked out the largest strawberries from their crops to replant. So slowly, over generations and generations, they got bigger, but it comes with a price." He tapped his nose with one long finger, a crooked smile dancing on his lips.
"What is that Grandpa?" he asked.
"Why just eat the berry and you will know," he gestured at the fruit cradled in his palm. Plucking it up with careful fingers he placed it in his mouth. Never before had a strawberry erupted with juice between his teeth as this one had. Never before had he tasted a strawberry concentrated with such sweetness. Never again would he look at a store bought strawberry the same.
"They taste better," he told his grandfather, eyes wide with the amazement of a child.
"Indeed they do," waving his walking stick over the strawberry patch he said, "This will be our breakfast."
Over the next quarter of an hour they foraged. Utilizing the nourishment the land provided for them. He was sure they would have stayed longer if an unexpected guest hadn't arrived. Very slowly his grandfather rose to his feet and gave a gentle tap on his shoulder. He looked up to see a finger pressed to his grandfather's lips. He pointed with the end of his walking stick across the patch of berries. Following the trajectory he saw what his grandfather did. He jarred to his feet not nearly as graceful as his grandfather had. With its back turned to them, only a few short meters off, a grizzle bear sat, combing the strawberry plants of their berries.
"Come along," his grandfather whispered to him and began a silent retreat towards the edge of the lake. Quiet as he could he followed along, stealing glances at the bear as they went.
"I have a friend that wrestles bears just like that one," his grandfather said once they had placed a safe distance between them and the bear.
"No," he exclaimed, for a moment forgetting his attempt to walk like his grandfather.
"Yes," he laughed, his laugh was the sound of the rapids at the mouth of the lake they walked the shores of now, powerful in a way that was sometimes underestimated, "Once I held a staff to control all kinds of beasts, including bears."
"What did you do with it?" he asked, "Did you ride a bear? That's what I would have done."
"No," his grandfather said, a grave tone seeping through on his voice, "There was no chance for fun of that sort. With it I tested my hubris."
"Hubris, what does that mean grandpa?" he liked that his grandfather was not afraid to use sophisticated terms around him. So many adults did not think he was capable to understand, his grandfather was a far superior teacher than any he had before in school.
"It is when someone has overestimated their competence, especially when that person had a position of power," he said, "You see, my boy, hubris has been many people's undoing. Its lesson is to never be too arrogant. That's exactly what I had to remind myself. I was given the power to be stronger than any man."
"You Grandpa?" he asked, trying his best to keep the doubt from his voice.
"Stronger than Hercules," he said, puffing out his narrow chest.
"Hercules is not real," he objected, "He's just a character in your bedtime stories."
"He is real, my boy," he smiled his smile of a wolf, "I have met him."
He did not say anything, he knew his grandfather for the truth.
"I could have kept that strength, that power," he formed a fist with his free hand as he continued his story, he opened his fist as if to release something and said, "but in doing so I would have let down my friends. The decision really wasn't there at all."
He nodded, seeing that a weaker man may not have made the same decision. A weaker man could have fallen victim to his hubris.
"Once I did get to ride a griffin," he spared him a sideways glance, the mischief in his face again.
"A griffin?" he asked.
"A lion with the head and the wings of an eagle," he said.
"I would like to ride one of those," he said with a gasp.
"Someday you might," his grandfather laughed. Their content walk along the lakeside continued into the forest. As they hiked his grandfather continued to story tell of magnificent adventures. He could not get enough. He gobbled up every world that came from his grandfather's mouth.
It was nearing afternoon when their fun was interrupted. His grandfather's old blue phone started ringing. The phone was large and bulky, but it could do just as much, if not more than the most modern model. His grandfather had always been up to date with technology otherwise, he had the newest computers and gaming consoles. Of course he would always tinker with any new purchase to increase its capability.
His conversation on the phone was short. When he was finished he turned to him and said, "Your parents are here."
"No," he whined as he slouched his shoulders, "Grandpa, I don't want to go home."
His grandfather laughed and slapped him on the back, "Best not keep them waiting." Grumbling he followed his grandfather back to the cabin in a brood. Three weeks had dissolved away so quickly. He would walk as slow as he could to make his visit last. He focused on every detail he could, memorizing the glimmer of the turquoise water, the tickle of the grasses on his legs, the warmth of the sun bathing his face and the smell from the blooms of hundreds upon hundreds of wildflowers dotting the meadow around the cottage.
His parents were elated to see him. His mother dropped to her knees and swept him into her arms. His grandfather shook hands with his father and then kissed his mother on the cheek when she released him.
"We had an excellent time," his grandfather told his parents, placing his hand on his shoulder, "Didn't we, my boy?"
"Yes," he exclaimed, waving his arms out wide, "we explored all over the mountain."
"Good," his father smiled, opening the back seat of their little car for him. Before he went in he turned to his grandfather and wrapped his spindly arms around his waist in a fierce hug.
"I'll miss you Grandpa," he said, "I can't wait to visit again."
"I will miss you too," he laughed and pat his back.
"Thanks for looking after him Dad," his mother said as he took his seat in the car, "He really loves you."
"I love him too," he said and gave her another kiss on the cheek, "Hurry on, you better get back on the road."
"Thanks again Dad," his mother waved before she dropped into the passenger seat of the running car. Turning to look at him she gestured to his branch, "What's that?"
"It's my walking stick," he said, holding it out for her to see better, a proud smile smeared across his face, "Just like Grandpa's."
"Yes, of course," she smiled at him in the warm way mothers smile at their children, "You had a good time then?"
"Yes," he said with one good solid nod of his head. She turned back around in her seat and he looked down the gravel road to his grandfather's cabin. Coming towards them was a pickup truck. The driveway was only wide enough for one vehicle at a time. His father pulled off to let the truck pass. He watched carefully to see the driver as it rolled by, the gravel crunching under the tread of the truck's tires.
He recognized the man right away. With a huge grin on his face he gave a wild wave to his grandfather's friend. The man driving the truck was still larger than most men he had ever seen before, but he was not as big as he had been in some of his grandfather's pictures. With a large and thickly calloused hand his grandfather's friend waved back, his deep and hardy laugh traveled through both vehicles' open windows.
"That's the bear wrestler," he turned to announce to his parents with utmost certainty.
"What?" his father asked.
"Grandpa said he has a friend that wrestles bears," he said, "and that's him."
"Your Dad's been telling him stories again," he didn't like the tone in his father's voice, he didn't believe him.
"Honey," his mother turned to him, reaching back a hand to touch his knee, "Grandpa is very old. Sometimes you can't believe what he says."
He harrumphed as he sank back in his seat, turning his attention to the trees outside. His parents knew quite a bit of things, but his grandfather knew everything. This they were wrong about. His grandfather had done all the things he claimed to, he had seen things only heard of in stories, it was not fiction.
Every bedtime for the past three weeks his grandfather had told him stories of great heroes that lived long ago. He liked all of them but his favourite was the one who had masterminded the Trojan horse, the one who sailed the sea of monsters. A real wolf in sheep's clothing is what his grandfather had called him. A wolf in sheep's clothing, he wondered if his grandfather realized he was also describing himself.
Hey guys,
Thanks so much for reading, I hoped you liked it. After I finished my last story I felt like I had exhausted myself when it came to writing, I see it doesn't take long to bounce back. I have had this idea floating around in my head for quite a while, I was just having troubles starting it. I had tried multiple times, but nothing seemed right, until now. When I started it this time around it was perfect, the words just flew down into my notebook and I got the rough draft hammered out in one sitting.
I really want to take the moment to thank all of you. I can't believe how comfortably I have been able to settle into this fandom. I had countless anxieties about posting my writing on the internet, but everyone here is so welcoming, and I am truly grateful for that. I think something that will continue to drive me to write is the waiting for other authors to post. Oh I hate the waiting, the little rise of hope whenever you check the archive only to be dashed when nothing new is up. Now that I am an author here I can help be a solution to that problem.
Please leave any feedback, I would love to know where this story is weak so I can improve for the next one.
Everyone have a great holiday season!
Jackpine