Faithful Pebble
Part Five
The young man, a wanderer who was only passing by, tilted his head. "Stayed?"
The boy nodded. His own messy blonde hair bobbed, falling into brown-black eyes smothered with wonder and mischief. "No one knew she was even down there, because the well is dry and a good cockleap into the woods. Nobody ever goes there, but one of the men found her while he was busy chopping trees. He tried to help her, but—"
"She was too weak," the Madame totted. You know the one, the hen with the snottier nose, the juiciest gossip and the largest net of blurry eyed followers. "He put down a rope and she could barely climb it, the poor dear."
"Not only that," the man with the beer chortled, "she wouldn't even take hold of it. Mentioned something about fear and what not. Complete coward, if you'd ask me. If it was me, I'd—"
"Have done something more. I would have been eager to do anything to catch whatever opportunity I could to escape, but she didn't."
"Why?" The wanderer asked softly helping the old wood cutter to his damp spare hut.
"I don't know," he shrugged. He twisted rotten shoulders, drooped matted eyebrows. "Lack of resolve, I suppose."
- Calla