Continuation of the Next Day
The five travelers slept late the next morning, awaking to see the dew off the flowers begin to vanish. They packed their camp and started down the straight, burdensome path to Lourdes. They traveled in the warmth of the May afternoon, and the breeze of the evening. Many miles they covered that day - but they stopped to rest at the shores of a small lake hidden in a valley. The hills glittered with emerald grass and the trees echoed the lushness of the valley. The lake possessed some mystery to it. It was crystal blue and shone like sapphires.
"I have never seen water this clear before!" exclaimed the Persian wading through the waist deep water.
"We ought to find some trout for supper tonight in these waters, if our little friend doesn't scare them off first," the Russian noted, keeping watch of the Persian chasing the fish in the waters.
"I've never eaten fish before!" yelped the Persian with sudden interest.
"By the looks of you, it seems you've never eaten anything before," the Russian smiled. The Persian paid no heed and continued at her game.
"It is so beautiful here," gasped the Egyptian. "I want to live forever just from seeing this. It's a shame that St. Bernadette couldn't have lived long enough in her life to see this and the world…"
"Oh, my dear, you shouldn't speak of such things. The Lord had a plan for her. And there is a plan for you and for all of us. And none of them include living in this life forever," said the Spaniard's wife gently.
"Why is that, Madam?" the Egyptian challenged. "To be young forever! To see the people come and go as they please - never fearing death!"
"That's exactly my point, dear. All people, as they get older, do not fear death coming for them. It's a release. Perhaps someday you'll come to realize that," the Spaniard's wife replied.
"Until that day, I shall want death to fear me and never come to claim me!" the Egyptian shouted with joy soaking her beautiful feet into the lake.
"I knew a man who said exactly the same thing," the Russian began.
"Is this a story?" the Persian asked with delight coming onto the shore and sitting before the blazing fire.
"If you want it to be, yes."
"What's in your bag?" asked the Persian girl, searching through the Russian's sack. "I can smell biscuits!"
"Imagination..." the soldier muttered.
"Let me see!" the Persian yelped with excitement.
"I need those biscuits to tell my story!" the Russian gasped, pulling the bag away from her small hands.
"Well then, tell your story and then we can eat them," the Persian said.
"Is it an old story?" asked the Egyptian with fascination.
"Yes, very old," replied the Russian sitting comfortably on his log.
"Oh, stale biscuits..." commented the Persian with disgust.