It was one afternoon, after two nights of furious battle between The Rhinwa tribe and The Fanuks. The dwellers of the nearby battlefield, forester’s were in idle this typical afternoon. The glade wasn’t adversely ruined by the battle. The surrounding was but calm. The warm breeze of summer made its way through the pores of leaves, between the branches of trees, advancing its serene blow. The blow was strong but weak enough to maintain its calmness.
In the midst of this serenity was emerge a lowfull life form, a wounded being. Swaying from side to side with every step taken. He was in daze but managed to hold himself as he leans on tree trunks after every minute leap, leaving traces of his blood stained handprints on the skin of the every tree he laid hands on. He neared the state of unconsciousness yet determined to fulfill his task, his will power was what brought him this far.
His bruised body, left arm planted in his wounded belly and blood seeping from his right arm. Fortunately, his head remained uninjured. Luck was with him or rather be said, nature’s force seemed to provide him assistance.
At a distance not so far from where he was located, situated a thatched hut, a hovel. He’s been panting for an hour after injury now, his breathing had decreased utterly. To this point, it was explicable that he was hallucinating. There dwelled a man and a woman in their mid fifties, Gordon and Jane. The married couples who loved each other dearly that even death wasn’t to separate them.
To his luck, the seen hovel wasn’t a result of hallucination. He advanced forward for a check out. He knocked the door with all his might left. Three knocks and he heard a murmur.
“That’s strange Jane. Never thought we’d have a by passer.”
“Yes. Quite unlikely”. Came the reply of a woman’s voice.
He moved onwards to the door to open it.
Almost as if nature helped the stranger, the door was flung wide open at once which revealed the wounded man’s face. His hair was jet black and skin was pale. Perhaps because of his long span of injury. His face was dirty with bruises and scratches but no serious injury on his head. He supported himself by the door frame until the door was opened. So tired and exhausted was he. It was inevitable.
Panting still, he muttered between hard breathes as the door opened, “Is admission forbidden here too?”
Gordon looked at the stranger with even stranger thoughts in his mind partly confused.
“So I assume you’re one of The Rhinwa.” His lips drawn into a firm line. “Come on in soldier.” Admission was an allowance to him.
The stranger let go of his hands holding to the frame tightly and limped inside. A step after another was a hard thing, struggling onwards to take a seat he almost fell to the ground if it wasn’t for Gordon’s support. He was eased to a bench that squeaked upon contact. And because of his hurt belly, he couldn’t bring himself to sit up and so ended up laying down on the bench. His breathing became tense as he coughs sputum and saliva that was mixed with blood. It splattered upon his face for the gravity caused the return of the spat colloid. He winced in pain and for its inconvenience. Oh this isn’t so comfortable. But at least they let me in. He thought.
Gordon’s heart was a pure one. A man of love was he, not just for his wife but for his fellowmen which with a little exaggeration we can say, he could love his enemies equally as his fellowmen tribe, The Rhinwa.
He was a warrior once. The nature of being one still lived in him which was shown by his actions that speak thus.
“Water, water” the stranger could hardly cry out his thirst, for his throat was parched.
“Jane!” Gordon called out. “Bring a glass of water for the young lad.”
“Coming right up.” Jane’s voice that answered was heard across the other room in which Gordon and the young lad were.
