Hills and Valleys Reprise

Rockclawfoot and the old Hermit stood aloft the craggy pinnacle. Together they surveyed the formenting clouds of mists gathering at the foothills.
They had debated, long into the night as to the best outcome.
Wine had been poured, tears and laughter poured forth in unison as the tales of old were sung.
Answers were few, there was little left to be done, except observe, retreat, observe, retreat.
The Old Hermit looked into the aethers and sighed deeply. In spite of it all, he held a measure of satisfaction, as he knew he had done, all he could.

Rockclawfoot stood silent, his chest barely moving as he stood watching the stars above and the mists below.

Ashes flew from the fire into the dark starry night as the old Hermit prepared a simple meal. A potato each, and an onion. They were getting old and both knew that it would not be long, until the maiden of dawn came with her siren call.

The old Hermit carefully gathered his scripts and gathered a few items of interest, perchance a hapless wanderer should happen upon the dry cave at the hilltop.

He laughed dryly as he knew that that which was of import had been written on peoples hearts; the parchments were as ever, of little use, without the elixer.

Those whos hearts had been touched however, knew well of the hidden quotient.

For it was Love.

Not some dry powder...

Rockclawfoot ushered a soft laugh at the olh Hermits ways...but the old Hermit was well respected by Rockclawfoot for his wisdoms and counsel.
They would sorely miss each other, but it was decided to part ways...for a time.

Rockclawfoot had brought some items for perpetuity as well.

He had brought seeds and leather, a polished stone and some other everyday items.

He too hoped, that should some hapless wanderer find upon this cave, that they would understand...


A simple life.

So, the two who had seen so much together, were to part, and would simply shake hands and walk away, into the mists.

A new destiny.
Both were adept at leaving no traces, except those they wished a spoor to carry.

It was a remote sight, viewed from afar, to see two such stalwart companions part.

They paid no mind to any consternations.


Gabion came forward, such a dauntless and noble steed.

The old Hermit dug into his bag and pulled out a fine bag of gold and gave it to Rockclawfoot.

Rockclawfoot, his eyes full of tears, tied the bag to Gabions neck and uttered a word, choked with emotion.

The Old Hermit uttered an invocation and without ceremony, Rockclawfoot slapped Gabion on his rump and said "Away my friend, to green pastures anew, when I call you, come"


The mists in the valley below cleared to a beautiful sunny day and the three were not seen or heard, again.



Last Edited by Flaming Sword on 07/14/2010 09:51 PM