Faithful Pebble:
Part Twelve
Alarmed, the man rushed to the edge and looked down. He squinted raising rope burned hands before his eyes, the sunset blaring into the crisp blue of their irises. "What happened? Are you alright?"
His answer was silence—no. His answer was a whisper, soft and uncertain. "Please," it said. "Please. Don't."
Still, he shook his head. Was that all she could say? He wondered. He pitied. He eyed the basket then rewound the rope. To her cries, which were now filled with disappointment and sadness, the man gathered it, tied its end around an intricate woven handle and then hefted both items over the ledge. She must have saw the broad sagging bottom for instantly her cries became wails.
"Please," she screamed. "Please. Don't!"
"Please," he answered. "Don't be afraid. I have some food for you." Again, he put a hand over his eyes. "I can't see you. If you could stand to the side, I will lower the basket gently so it won't hit you."
His answer was silence—just silence. Uncertain, he lifted the cover of the basket and ripped open the loaf. He chewed the spongy piece as he stared down into the well. "See," he said. "It's safe. Please."
"Please."
He paused hearing the voice. Instantly, he smiled. It was accepting, slightly annoyed and eager. He laughed earning himself another annoyed please. That only made him chuckle louder as he slowly, as promised, lowered the basket. "Its bread," he said, "and cheese. I know the villagers feed you. I thought—"
"Please," she said taking the basket. He felt the rope jerk. "Please. Don't."
"Why?" he asked suddenly. He paused gripping the rope and gazing down into the darkness. His brow furrowed. "Why?" he asked again. He expected silence, the wanderer. He expected only one word, but to his surprise another came, a different and longer utterance that was much more than the ones before. "They hurt me."
Calla