Faithful Pebble
Part Seventy-Seven
"The room was filled with diamonds wasn't it?" The wanderer commented, guessed it easily enough. It was his turn to shrug. Her story was turning into one he'd heard many times, many times more than she could probably count. He eyed her a moment then let his attention waver. "And they were cursed, weren't they? Am I correct?"
Pebble paused looking back at him. Her shoulders suddenly slouched and a shadow of uncertainly lowered her chin an inch, a foot, a mile. "Y-yes," she stuttered. "T-they say, they were tainted a slight shade of purple, the color of the blossoms and leaves that grow on the witch's tree, the color of her notorious poison. They say the boy touched one. They say that's all he did before he…" she trailed off.
"Before he what? Turned into a mushroom, into stone, into a giant dog that eats people?" Suddenly the wanderer's voice was harsh and cold, distant like it was when he scolded her about his reasons for helping her out of the well.
Pebble watched him through her hood, through her eyelashes. She frowned. Even his demeanor had changed. It turned ragged and menacing, his shoulders tight and stiff, his chin high and pronounced, his eyebrows angled and sharp.
"You," Pebble gapped speechless. Her confidence dropped, her sudden spout of fearlessness sunk allowing that once forgotten freight to seep back into her bones. Unaware, she adjusted her hood, cowered back into the brown and coarse and filthy stiff fabric of her cloak. "I have offended you," she spoke, she whispered softly. Slowly, she turned away.
For a moment, the wanderer stilled, his gaze finding unknown solace in the leaves and the trees, in the silent stale dread of the woods around them. His mind worked secretly, while his heart heaved and bled. For a moment, the moment came. Then for a moment, it left. Gradually, he too sank his shoulders.
At once, he paced to Pebble's side, his hand accidently moving to clutch his watch. At the last minute, however, he halted. He fisted his hand. Instead, his jerky fingers, his quaking fingers, his bereft fingers choked the harsh frigid diamonds encircling ruby eyes that glared angrily in the dark. He tried not to the think about the dragon, or the diamonds they were made out of. They made him angry. They terrified him. "I'm sorry," the wanderer murmured quietly. "I said that I didn't favor fairy tales." He licked his lips. "I find them distasteful and tellingly unbelievable."
"Unbelievable?" Pebble questioned. She tilted her head uncertainly. Shyly stepping away from him, she moved to continue her journey through the woods. As distracted as she was by his statement, her attention did not waver. They were close. She could feel it, taste it, smell it. It smelt of…
"Of course, they're unbelievable. They're fairy tales." Still, even as Pebble moved, even as she wandered, her lips moved and a peace of her traced the wanderer's footsteps as they overshadowed hers. "Even so, I would hardly say fairy tales are completely unbelievable. There is some truth in them and in this one especially."
"Exactly," the wanderer countered softly, less harsh but still allowing an edge to invade the rhythm of his speech. "They're truth encompassed by lies, lies hidden cleverly to disguise the truth, truth that could save a man if told plainly, truth that is often ugly and vile, a secret detailing all the things evil in the world and about those forced to live on it."
"You speak as if from experience," Pebble said softly. "Are you a man in need of saving?" She paused and looked back at him.
Unknowingly, the wanderer met her gaze through her hood. His cyan pupils pierced hers with a revealing glimpse of sadness, their striking depths absent of any hope, a storm tossed sea bereft of land, light and life. Eventually, the man sighed and looked away. Instead of answering, he asked her a question. "So how does your story end? Will you please tell me?"
Pebble bit her lip.
- Calla