Child's Play
The wind played through the leaves, making a swishing noise as it wended its way toward the middle of a tall, green forest. It swirled over tall stone walls into a sunlit courtyard, which contained two figures. The first bent over a table, intent upon his work. The second, smaller figure lay sprawled on the green grass, his golden hair shining in the sun.
The larger person stretched and slowly stood up from his desk, then ambled towards the smaller. He stopped close to the figure and listened to the play of his fifty two year old son. Still young for an elf, the prince was remarkably intelligent, and his father, the king, had spent many of his free hours simply watching him.
"Will you ride to battle with me, my lord?" said the young prince, using once of his wooden elven warriors as he set the scene for his story. The small, carved figures had been a gift from the weapons smith. They were made of scraps from the high quality bows and swords, both wood and metal of the finest quality. They were toys truly fit for a prince.
"And what will be the gain for me? I truly see no need to help you. Your king offers neither jewels nor land nor anything else I would find of value," said the small, glass lord whose help was being asked for. This figure was the prince's favorite and had been given to him by his father for his fiftieth birthday.
"You ask for money?" asked the elven warrior incredulously. "You would not help us in our time of need unless you would become the richer for it? Do you even care that elves that should have lived forever are dead? Where is your heart? It is certainly not with either your people or mine."
"My heart is in my gold," said the wicked lord.
The prince's play continued for several minutes. The warrior tried to convince the lord to help his dying people yet again, though what was killing them was a mystery. The story came to an end as the brave warrior ventured home to find his home decimated, family dead. So, he alone stood as the monsters ran him down in the house of his forefathers, his immortal life spilling red into the ground. No man stood to help him, though the warrior had gone as far as to beg.
The father watched as his son's play turned into an epic story. Perhaps, he thought, just perhaps children see more than we give them credit for. My son is wiser than his years. He does not hold naïve illusions within his sweet innocence, but he holds dreams of truth. He keeps his innocence without keeping stupidity.
The prince looked up from his toy figures. "Father?" he asked. "Are you done working?" When the king nodded, the youngling's face lit up. "Could you take me to the archery range? I would have asked mother, but she said she wasn't feeling good. So, I left her alone."
The king who was also a father smiled rather sadly and said, "Of course, my son. Let's gather your bow and your sister and we will go."
The young prince yelled with joy and skipped off to the palace to spread the good news to his twin.
The wind played through the leaves, making a swishing noise as it wended its way toward the middle of a tall, green forest. It swirled over tall stone walls into a sunlit courtyard, which contained two figures. The first bent over a table, intent upon his work. The second, smaller figure lay sprawled on the green grass, his golden hair shining in the sun.
The larger person stretched and slowly stood up from his desk, then ambled towards the smaller. He stopped close to the figure and listened to the play of his fifty two year old son. Still young for an elf, the prince was remarkably intelligent, and his father, the king, had spent many of his free hours simply watching him.
"Will you ride to battle with me, my lord?" said the young prince, using once of his wooden elven warriors as he set the scene for his story. The small, carved figures had been a gift from the weapons smith. They were made of scraps from the high quality bows and swords, both wood and metal of the finest quality. They were toys truly fit for a prince.
"And what will be the gain for me? I truly see no need to help you. Your king offers neither jewels nor land nor anything else I would find of value," said the small, glass lord whose help was being asked for. This figure was the prince's favorite and had been given to him by his father for his fiftieth birthday.
"You ask for money?" asked the elven warrior incredulously. "You would not help us in our time of need unless you would become the richer for it? Do you even care that elves that should have lived forever are dead? Where is your heart? It is certainly not with either your people or mine."
"My heart is in my gold," said the wicked lord.
The prince's play continued for several minutes. The warrior tried to convince the lord to help his dying people yet again, though what was killing them was a mystery. The story came to an end as the brave warrior ventured home to find his home decimated, family dead. So, he alone stood as the monsters ran him down in the house of his forefathers, his immortal life spilling red into the ground. No man stood to help him, though the warrior had gone as far as to beg.
The father watched as his son's play turned into an epic story. Perhaps, he thought, just perhaps children see more than we give them credit for. My son is wiser than his years. He does not hold naïve illusions within his sweet innocence, but he holds dreams of truth. He keeps his innocence without keeping stupidity.
The prince looked up from his toy figures. "Father?" he asked. "Are you done working?" When the king nodded, the youngling's face lit up. "Could you take me to the archery range? I would have asked mother, but she said she wasn't feeling good. So, I left her alone."
The king who was also a father smiled rather sadly and said, "Of course, my son. Let's gather your bow and your sister and we will go."
The young prince yelled with joy and skipped off to the palace to spread the good news to his twin.