Faithful Pebble
Part Sixty-Five
Hesitantly, Pebble looked back at him, the wanderer, her glance hidden by brown coarse fabric, fled fleetingly like a startled bee in the dark. She turned left once more following the illuminous beckoning of the violets at her feet. The wanderer resisted the urge to comment. Instead, he scratched his head. He too turned left at the violets.
He licked his lips. He pondered. "I don't remember you asking a question—oh wait," he said. The wanderer stopped and then walked faster. He wanted to travel next to her, to meet her on her plane and converse, but seeing this Pebble sighed.
She shoved her body in front of him causing the wanderer to stumble and frown. He was about to resist her, to push pass her once more, but her hand stopped him.
She paused and turned, then caught his arm. Her fingers nearly skinned him with her claws, those black and dirty and long sharp blades. They were piercing in their grip, stung sharply like a bee sting in the dark. She was the bee, the woods another well, another home basked in lightless ink, the darkness of the blind and foreboding. She spoke softly, "For your safety, I ask that you follow only."
He wanted to argue. His impatience longed to, his pride and uneasiness… his pride.
How long had it been since he'd followed the path of someone else? Absently feeling the watch stir and knit in his pocket, the man held his tongue. How long had it been since hehadn't followed the path of someone else? Too long, he thought. "I understand," he said. He stepped back. He shifted the sac on his shoulder.
- Calla