Mikhail found that a talking horse—rather, a talking stallion—made the long journey home much less lonely. Not that Spirit ever said much. He was the rather shy, quiet type of talking animal, who is perfectly content to listen. In fact, Spirit was a wonderful listener. And even noble knights need to be listened to at times. By the time they approached Mikhail's home, both rider and stallion had become good friends.
The first snow fell as Spirit trotted through the gnarled white birch-wood gates of Mikhail's home village. The knight winced at the faded burn marks of old dragon fire on the gate pillars and the empty lot where his childhood home had once stood. He had long had no ashrooms left to dull his feelings.
On a sudden impulse, Mikhail turned Spirit from the path leading to the Village Elder's house and spurred him through the crop fields, past the old steam house, and into the black forest. At the mouth of the hidden ashroom cave, he leaped from the stallion's saddle and fumbled with trembling hands to take off his helmet. Mikhail paused halfway into the narrow hole to look back at his friend.
“I am not meant for caves and dark places!” Spirit snorted and stamped his hooves disapprovingly on the frosty earth.
“I'll only be a minute,” Mikhail responded apologetically as he leaned his bright shield against the cave entrance and took off his chest plate. You see, even the best armor polish was little protection against the smoke of the underground ashroom chamber. Soon his little wooden box was filled once again with the red-speckled mushrooms, and Mikhail emerged from the dull glow of the dim cave only to find that Spirit had trotted back to the village without him. The snow fell heavier as Mikhail trudged back through the crop fields, though his heart felt lighter as painful memories faded away for a time.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment