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It was one of those hot days. Squad was marching whole day long and stopped for the lodging for the night in the forest, filled of spring freshness, cold underground water streams, ripe bilberry and simply fragrant air. Argaron declared halt, he commanded a small squad of warriors. Accepting his loss over tiredness he decided to take a walk in the woods and breathe with fresh air before sleep. It grew dark. Young warrior went to wander off on his own, after making a decision that it is worth staying in the solitude for a while. He knew that this forest held many marvelous stories, some people simply disappeared here, but too many thoughts, questions, solutions constantly tore his mind to pieces. He can't be responsible enough for his own fate, and here are three thousand soldiers, ready to die and perish in his one command. He slowly walked forward, sometimes tripping over roots here and there, trying not to make any turns, which should make finding the road back easier. Sun slowly slipped down beyond the horizon, leaving the sky painted weak reddish color, such as can be winter bloom on the children's cheeks. Trees and bushes everywhere threw whimsical shadows. It seemed that forest was just sleeping and any minute now it will rise, shake as a wild wolf, yawn and go back to his matters to live. Argaron decided that it would be great to just sleep right in the middle of the forest. Soft moss, that seemed to be grooving everywhere as a downy blanket, was so seductive to lie down for a while and rest. He was walking. It's not like he was thinking about any combat plans or about how to get out of the battle alive himself... Argaron simply couldn't understand? WHY? He got tired of walking and set down on the root of sufficiently not young oak-ling that was sticking out of the ground near by, oak friendly stretched his branches overhead of the man, shielding him from the future morning sun. Young warrior sat without movement with his eyebrows collapsed on the bridge of his nose, but his face was rather pitiful and sad, than decisive and brave. It all began when his squad was marching thru their native lands. It was then that he saw that his squad doesn't have any lonely warriors and why is it so important for each of them to return home, where they are loved, remembered, awaited. It is difficult when you depend on someone, but it is still more difficult when someone depends on you. His whole squad depends on his decisions and he must be decisive and serious; therefore it was very difficult controlling sadness and pain, when no one came out to greet him. Chaos of thoughts suppressed his mind. It seemed that feelings, which tried since so long ago to assault the siege of his heart, which he tried to keep solid and unapproachable, finally found a breach and gushed all into it immediately. He was sour and tried his best to find an answer and therefore began a conversation with himself, but each of his responses was rejected by his own self. He cornered himself. Heart started to whine, asking for the final acceptance of the existence of the feelings and that they will not leave, no matter how thoroughly they would be burned by the master as the grass before the castles of powerful lords. Young commander lost track of time, he even had no idea where he is, and there were only despair... The hopeless despair. Pain. This might be why his conversation with himself became a conversation with a soft melodious voice: - No. I do not have a purpose. I don't knoow. I'm simply a useless person - he said, holding his head. - It isn't worth denying existence of someething only if you are unable to see it - soft voice responded. - But how do I find one? And what am I loooking for? Or maybe whom? He froze as some feeling went thru his every muscle. He wiped cold sweat from the forehead, since he finally understood that his conversation with himself have stopped a long ago. He decided not to turn, though he was not afraid. However, what then? Maybe he simply feared that the owner of the voice will just disappear as a mirage. He felt a soft palm landing on his shoulder. Finally taking a hold of himself and calming his shaking he turned around� and jumped from the unexpected contingency and the surprise. There is no number to all creations of the world, but in the middle of the forest, on top of that a charmed forest� there was a girl of the indescribable beauty standing before him. It seemed the sun didn't completely fell over the horizon leaving a small beam of light in her hair, which as liquid fire fell on her shoulders. Emerald eyes shone with concern and kindness, but there was also a riddle there. - Who are you? - After a number of effortss he was finally able to move his completely stiff tongue. She leaned her head on one side and smiled: - And who do you want me to be? -I... I know you...Or...Who are you? - Hiss body began to shake treacherously, but there was no fear. He looked closer and it seemed that he always knew an answer to his question that his foolish self wasn't able to see for his entire life. - You created me? - Her hand slid on his ccheek and to the fluffed hair. After removing the hair, which although fragile, nevertheless served as a wall between their eyes, she returned to his cheek. - You... No... This is impossible? - His wwhole body was numb and was hard to control, but still he tried to move further from the delusion. Cheek began to whine, demanding the return of the mysterious stranger's tender hand touch. He tripped and fell on the moss. - You will find what you are looking for, even if it is seems unattainable. Seemed the sky collapsed and knocked him on the head, so severe the pain was. He finally saw what he was searching for... And he remembered what he forgot so long ago... Whom he forgot... Childish dreams about the perfect girl, whom he tried to find for so long. She set next to him looking into his eyes. Only now he noticed that as the garment of his night guest served only her fiery-red hair. She approached nearer, and now their eyes were divided only by the thin woven of forest air... Everything around him began to spin and he fell asleep. There was a morning march... There was a morning battle... The blood was spilled in the morning... And he, laughing as a child, charged into the battle still unable to forget the sweet taste of her lips and her soft and gentle voice, which ringed in his head as a bell that dispersed the shroud of the treacherous fog, saying: "Newer stop searching, even if your dream seems unattainable?" |
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