Faithful Pebble
Part Forty-Eight
The wanderer knelt before the child, who instantly began to blush and fiddle more aptly with the inner ring of his cap. He waited a second then asked a question. His brow furrowed slightly. "How do you know how long Pebble has been down there?"
The kitten bit his lip. "Because my mother said Pebble was discovered the year I was born. I am seven. She's been down there seven years.
The child paused and then changed the subject. His gaze lifted shyly up at the man, the wanderer, the stranger who'd met them with a gentleness that the child had only seen in the wood cutter's forlorn expression. He swallowed and then continued. "How—what will you do if she can't climb the rope?" The boy asked and then waited, waited for the words he had heard for years but to his surprise, this time they didn't come.
"If she can't climb out," the wanderer answered softly, "then I must go to her. It's a simple solution. I'm surprised that no one ever thought of it."
I did, the child thought. But instead, he stuttered, "Y-you aren't scared to go down there?"
"No," the wanderer assured. He nodded toward the rope which dangled in silent innocence from his shoulder. "This rope is strong and sturdy. It will carry both of us."
"But what if she's a bad person or a monster or…" Suddenly, the boy trailed off and the wanderer quickly filled in the gap.
"Do you want to come? I could probably use someone to watch the well in case the rope snaps. Do you want to help?"
Instantly, the kitten moved to say yes, but then he paused thinking of his hero, of his promise, of the forest, the well, his grandfather and Pebble, of her darkness and her rescue. Instead of agreeing, the child asked his own question. "Do you promise?"
The wanderer hesitated not quite certain of what the child was referring. He ambled to his feet. "Promise to?" he asked. His knees creaked a little, his joints complaining mildly like his back.
The boy put his cap on his head and walked up to the man, stared up at him with dare me eyes, eyes that he had received and gave many a time to his fellow pickpockets. He said, "Promise me you'll save her. No matter what!"
"No matter what." The wanderer regarded the boy, took in his dirty well-kept clothes, his tangled curly hair and ruddy nose. "You really want her saved, don't you?" the wanderer noted. "Why do you care so much?" It was a simple question.
But that also had no easy answer. It made the child dropped his gaze. "It could have been any of us," he mumbled softly. "It could have been anyone and they just left her.
"Please," he said. A small hand reached out to tug on the wanderer's sleeve. The wanderer could barely feel it, those itching fingers tangle around the green coarse fabric. "Please just save her!"
- Calla