Faithful Pebble
Part Fourteen
"Why are you here?"
The man started jerking slightly back from the well. After a moment, he leaned in further peering over the ledge. He wondered how far a torch would penetrate, how deep its light would fall. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"They come to bring food. They come to jeer. You have come knowing of my failure and have attempted to defy my fate and just like them, you have also failed. You should know there were others like you coming to seek fame or fortune by rescuing me. They were nothing but paupers, tailors masquerading as giant slayers and princes. If you are here seeking your glory, I tell you now you might as well leave—"
"Is it so surprising that there would be someone who would wish to save you without desire for self-gratification?"
There was no humor in his voice, no warmth or gentleness just displeasure and steep disappointment. In return, his tone caused the voice in the well to pause. She had offended him. He stared into the darkness, considering her thoughtfully. Somewhere, he knew that she was apologetic, if not a shamed by her retort. He could hear it when she spoke. Her fear tainted her words, his words, their words emerging together into a story.
"There was another who used to come and help, who desired nothing but good." Her voice was smaller, less brazen than before, but it was still thick and muffled like the old man once talked of in play and rhyme.
A sitting…
A sitting…
From a white knight to a queen.
The wanderer straightened and crossed his arms. He nodded, instantly recalling the person of whom she was talking.
"A wood cutter by trade. He used to visit here all the time. He gave me company when I needed it, a shoulder to rest on if you will, but uh…" she paused. "He has since passed away. His wife sent word of his illness not too long ago. It had gradually consumed him, she said. The plague ate him until there was nothing left, nothing left but ashes and posies."
Ashes
Ashes
A sitting on a gate...
He too paused, the wanderer, his thoughts choking his voice, tying his tongue, tightening his jaw in anger not regret.
"Don't mention me."
10 points if you know the poem I am referencing. Yes, I do love allusions. I think they're fun and a perfect resource for your budding fanfic writer. Oui? -Calla