Snippet

A Legend of Truth

The old storyteller walked with back hunched over and twisted cane in hand. His thick white beard dragged on the ground, constantly receiving blows from his ever moving walkingstick. His deep blue robes dragged behind him and his bushy eyebrow nearly hid eyes that twinkled with deep truths. Rough hands and scars told the story of many battles. The children, who were leaning forward in anticipation of the upcoming tale, displayed the new purpose he had found in life. He moved to the base of an ancient oak, whose rough bark provided a backrest for the old man.  Setting his cane aside he crossed his legs and set both of his old worn hands in his lap. He looked up at the leafy bows of the great tree. A tree who’d seen more life than he himself had. The sunlight shone through the foliage and warmed the storyteller’s face with her gentle hands. 

The birds, who’d been singing that morning, grew silent with a similar anticipation to those of the children. All ears were open and all mouths silent. A small girl who’d been carefully picking flowers had forgotten her growing bouquet. The daisies, zinnias, and wildflowers were wrapped in her small fists, wilting and dropping petals. The two boys, who were wet from their earlier swim in the stream, sat on the grass, eyes glued to the old man. The water that ran down their face from the wild, wet hair was entirely ignored. The old man turned his gaze from the leafy canopy and smiled sweetly at the children. His wrinkled face was free of all harsh lines, but a strong square jaw spoke of strength in a long lost youth. His long white hair was wind blown and tangled. His bare feet poked out either side of his robe. Deep blue eyes filled with laughter, now shown with the wandering look of one lost in thought. 

Every soul forgot to even breathe as the storyteller recalled the events of his tale. The squirrels scurried from their high up homes and sat beside the children, heedless of anything except the old man. The children didn’t even notice the fuzzy tailed companions, who rested beside them, many of which still held forgotten nuts in their tiny paws. The wind from the south blew against the waiting crowd with the sweet whisperings of blooming flowers and warm springs. It rustled the children’s hair, but they didn’t notice. 

At last the old storyteller, who still held the look of wandering, met the children's gaze and opened his mouth to speak. His voice was strong and wise. Although the adults scoffed at this beggarbond, the children knew him to be a truth teller as well as a storyteller. Never once had they ever failed to believe that every word he’d spoken about the Creator. Each word rang like bells in their heart, awakening something inside of them they hadn’t known was sleeping, but something that they never wanted to lose or forget. 

“Once, in a land not far from here, in a village that was the border between the unexploded forests and our kingdom of Terrestrial, lived a young boy, whose life was about to turn on his head…” 

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