“Aren’t you a strange one.” She commented. She put it down and moved to stand by the opening of the cave. Leaning against the stone she stared off into the night where the stars were already starting to come out. The high horizon from before had vanished in a serene cloak of darkness. Nightbirds sang their songs somewhere out of view. As new and exciting as it all was, her heart was heavy.
All of this because of a boy on a bridge. She thought. I shouldn’t be here; I have letters and parcels to collect and deliver. Where will this all end?
Hoxley stared out into the darkness for minutes on end. Behind her, Bohga entered the chamber and began to open the chest. When she turned to watch, she found him already looking at her.
“Standing guard?” He said.
“Excuse me?” she asked.
“Standing guard. You’re watching the only way in or out while your friends are eating.”
“Siouxsie is my friend.” She spoke. “I barely know the others.”
“But they are your companions just the same.”
“For now, I suppose.” She said, turning about to lean against the opening and look again on the blackness. “A few days ago, my life wasn’t this complicated.”
“But I also imagine a few days ago you were not growing as you are.”
“Growing?”
“Yes. A few days ago, you were delivering your letters and eating your meals and sleeping soundly in your nightly bunks. That is hardly growing. Look at you, young, vibrant, healthy; but not growing. It is here, in this time being as you are that you are beginning to start the path of who you are meant to be.”
“But I was being myself and I was very comfortable where I was.” Hoxley replied.
“Life begins outside of the space where we are no longer comfortable. If we only stay where we have comfort, we seldom grow. To live life to the fullest one must be prepared to take some risks and possibly lose everything. To languish in the familiar and lay oneself on a soft bed made of the mundane is hardly a life at all, says I.”
“I’m supposed to be uncomfortable my whole life?”
“One should always want comfort, but I do not believe one can become the best version of themselves when always surrounded by it.”
“And you live by this rule?” Hoxley asked “You look very comfortable here.”
“Ah yes,” the cyclops chuckled “I can see why one might think as you do. Tell me, Hoxley of the plains, have you ever seen a cyclops besides myself?”
“No, I haven’t. You’re the first.”
“Do you know why that is?”
“I’m afraid I don’t” she said
“Then I will tell you. You see, when cyclops reach a certain age, around a two hundred summers old, a wanderlust consumes us. When we reach maturity, we leave the realms of men and witches and fawn girls such as yourself. We either build mighty rafts to sail for islands far beyond these lands or burrow into the ground to explore the deepest caves we can find.”
“How old are you?” Hoxley asked.
“I am an aged seven hundred and two. I am the oldest I have ever been and the youngest I will ever be again.”
“Seven hundred and two?” Hoxley gasped at such longevity. “If you matured so long ago, then why are you still here?”
“That…is a story in itself.”
“A story you say?” Said a girl’s voice from behind. Bohga and Hoxley looked to see Siouxsie and the others entering the room. “I love stories! Go on then! Make it a good one! Are there ghosts and wicked things in the night?”
“No, no,” Bohga said “This story is a true one and it happened long, long, ago before any of your great, great, great, great, great, great, ancestors were born. It was a time of war and magic as the kingdoms of men and witches battled one another for control of the land.”
“You’re talking about the Dark Harvest.” Robert said. “You were there for the dark harvest?”
“I was, young Robert. It was a terrible time when men and witches fought tooth and nail, broom and bow across these lands.” The companions gathered around as Bohga straddled the huge iron chest that groaned when he sat upon it. The four sat down in a circle before him to listen while Hoxley unsheathed her pugil and leaned upon on as she was used to.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Why were they fighting?” Morell asked.
“I do not know the answer to that question. Some say there was a fire, but I do know it started for the same reason many go to war…they failed to listen. They stopped talking, stopped reasoning, let pride and anger get the better of them. Those I once thought were my friends feared me, accused me of spying on them for the other side, would not trade with me, told me never to come near them again.”
“That’s terrible.” Said Hoxley.
“I was very lonely.” Bohga sighed. “My regular visits to the villages and kingdoms ceased. No longer was I welcome and no longer did I get the chance to experience the joy of conversation or see families grow as I had before.” He looked to Siouxsie. “It was a great pleasure of mine to watch the witches harvest their grains in the fall. I will tell you there is no greater jubilation in the land than their fall celebrations. Do they still hold them?” he asked.
“Yes! The pumpkin festival is our biggest party of the year!” She expelled.
“Ah, it’s good to know that some things never change. Enjoy them, for the times we spend reveling endear us to the ones we share them with.”
“And your story?” Siouxsie asked.
“A strange encounter. I was pushing my cart home with the last of the provisions I thought I would need when I came across a pair of strangers crying on my very threshold. They were young souls. When I approached, they said that they’d lost their way and that they knew not the way to go. I introduced myself, told them it would be dark soon and that they’d be safer if they stayed at my cave and that I would help them if I could. They followed me back and I made them a meal as I have you. After they ate, I built a fire and they proceeded to tell me the sad story of how they were far from home and had been separated from the rest of their band. It was nice to have some pleasant company so I offered to let them stay with me until all my preparations to leave had been made. The pair agreed. For a short time, they stayed with me and we talked and learned from one another. I helped them to know the art of swordplay and how to defend themselves and others. It was in this very room that I learned of my true purpose not to give up on man or witch kind. A great but important burden. One day, the young strangers received the signs they were looking for, thanked me for my help and bid me farewell. Hearing from them how much I had helped and how helpful I could be to others; I made the choice not to build a raft and leave or burrow deep into caves. I realized then I had been selfish to want to shut myself away and not participate in the world around me and that I could be more of use to the world if I stayed where I was.”
“How strange.” said Morell. “Do you think you’ll ever see them again?”
“I’m sure one day they’ll return and we’ll tell one another of the adventures we’ve had. I can still picture them walking away and vanishing on the horizon.”
“That’s a neat story!” Siouxsie clapped. “Tell another one!”
“Perhaps another time.” Bohga said as he grunted to push himself to his feet. “For now, I have gifts I would like to give to each of you.”
“Gifts?” said Hoxley “That’s really not necessary. Your hospitality has been very gracious.”
“Nonsense. I’ve held onto these relics for far too long. It’s time for them to have new masters.” Bohga pulled the top of the iron trunk open and looked inside as if it the items within were new to him. “Little witches, come, come, I have things for you.” Siouxsie and Robert stood from where they sat and stood next to him as he continued to root through the trunks’ contents. “You do both have your brooms with you?” he asked. Each witch held theirs aloft. “Yes, there they are. If you would please turn them upside down.” Robert and Siouxsie did as they were asked as Bohga pulled something from the bottom of the trunk before outstretching his hand and opening it. Everyone looked as the fingers curled away to reveal a pair of spear tips each longer than Hoxley’s forearms.
