A whisper

[Ar7]

“A thousand coins for a wine?! Sir, my master said he wishes not to owe to somebody, please take it back.......Sir?...Sir?!” The young tavern boy carefully waved his hand in front of the customer, quickly pulling it back, as to not become a cause for anger. Another moment passes, it seems as if eternity had descended upon the helpless boy, he begins to shift his weight from one foot to another, his eyes running around the room hoping to catch his master, he is lost and has no clue as to what to do next.

All the while the customer continued to stare at the center of the table, having hardly touched the glass of wine, or even moved for that matter. As the boy was already getting desperate, probably preparing to do something stupid in order to get out of the difficult situation he found himself in, the customer lifted his eyes and gave the boy a cold look. The elderly man then rose from the table, slowly took the pouch of gold back in his hands and continued to look at the boy. Needless to say the poor lad now wished the man would not have moved, having worked in the tavern since the age of 7 he knew perfectly well what an angered customer could do to a child, many a mark on his body gave material proof to that wisdom.

The young boy then covered himself, as the man took a swing, preparing to throw the pouch in the tavern boy's face. Yet as the rest of the customers were turning their heads in order to amuse themselves by witnessing a beating, a slight smile appeared on the man's face. He lowered his hand and extended it towards the boy, handing him the pouch back. “Then keep the gold to yourself, your master needs not to know,” having heard that, the boy was left to stare at the back of a weird stranger, who promptly disappeared into the doors.

Having exited the tavern the old man stood still for a while, leaning on a nearby tree, it seemed as if he knew not what to do next or where to further set his feet. Yet after a short, thoughtful pause he began to silently mutter something under his nose for a good minute or two, the result of this chanting were a few sparks of ruby red and a more lively expression on the man's face.  

After taking another moment to contemplate, at least it seemed that it was what he did, judging by the look on his face and the way his wrinkles had aligned themselves in the most unnatural of ways, the elderly man saddled his horse with an amount of grace that could hardly be assumed for a person of his age.

A moment later, he rode off, with the wind gently setting a dried leaf of brown in his hair, as if saying good bye to a dear friend. When the elderly man looked back, he witnessed a whirl of leaves, dancing around as they fell from the tree he had just leaned upon. It was a beautiful site to behold, even more so because it was the only tree to shed its green robe in July.....

[Ar7]

Seems the forum doesn't like this particular computer and cuts the message down in size, shall be corrected in time *grumbles*

[Ar7]

Hours into the road saw a small stream appear in front of the rider. Being more annoyed with the trip than tired, the elderly strider decided to let his horse enjoy the fresh grass the stream had nurtured on its shores. For himself, he chose a different kind of meal, a piece of dried and spiced meat along with a loaf of fresh bread he had ordered in the tavern.

Taking a few steps to the right side of the horse, he laid down a piece of silk clothing, which had probably seen a lot better days judging by the way its fancy decorations had suffered from time, and then arranged the food on top of it. Doing so with such precision that the whole process began to resemble a ritual. Even the horse kept its eye on the man, as if overtaken by a human sense of curiosity, on the other hand, it probably had more to do with the fact that its master had set up his table too close to the horse’s pasture and the bread was now drawing away the animal’s attention from, what earlier seemed like, the best grass in the world.

With a lot more effort than it took him to saddle his horse hours earlier, the elderly man sat on the grass. He raised the meat to his nose and took a deep breath, “pork,” he whispered silently with a smile on his face. Taking out a dagger he began to cut the spicy meat into thin slices, amazingly enough, the entire process was surprisingly easy, as though it was warm butter and not dried chewy pork.

Giving his dagger a quick look the man was left stunned. The way the light played on the smooth polished surface of the blade left no doubt, in his hand he held mithril, having probably taken it by mistake instead of the ordinary iron one.

Suddenly thoughts began to rush through the man’s head, with his eyes running around as if trying to find a haven to hide his soul in: “That’s the same blade….it was supposed to be hidden….and I cut pork the way I cut through…” The man bolted up, as though forgetting his age, and shuddered, nervously cleaning pieces of pork off the blade, as if wishing that this would help him wipe memories from his mind.

A mere moment later, the blade was wrapped in rugged cloth and hidden in the bag.

Yet the given event created a feeling of thirst so powerful, that the man felt he would suffocate if left without water for even a second longer. Rushing to the stream, he kneeled down before it, but instead of drinking he stared at his own reflection.

The wrinkles that he had shed off near the inn had now crept back to his face, the lively energy taken from nature coming to an end. As if pulled back to reality from a sweet childhood dream the man came to realize the pain that ran across his elderly body, no doubt caused by the sudden movements made earlier.  

His elderly hands shaking, the young mind fighting the reality of an ageing, withering body, the man hits his own reflection and returns to his meal……