Wise Warrior

Icarus's picture

okay, I was in the shower and i just suddenly had this phrase in mind, so i wrote this little tidbit of a story around it. not really connected to anything, just an image i had. i might go with it, i might not....i dunno yet.


Her eyes were a clouded blue, like the sky before a storm, her face a veritable map of the wonders she had seen and later felt. Hair whiter than the purest snow fell past her feet in a braid with tufts like birds' feathers. Robes of the deepest red pooled around her, conjuring images of an old woman bathed in blood. She sat, cross-legged on the platform, smoking her pipe thoughtfully.

I knelt at the bottom of the stairs, head bent, awaiting the words I longed to hear. For a moment, there was quiet. But not silence. In the sacred forest, there is never silence, there is always life around you. A bird calls. The trees rustle in the wind. The old woman and I breathe in and out, almost in time with each other and nature itself.

The old woman breaks the silence, speaking words that are older than herself. "Who enters the domain of the sacred warrior, with a face so young and eyes so old? What do you seek, traveling stranger?" Her voice was as old and wrinkled as her face, with a tender mercy and a jovial laugh awaiting the order.

Still kneeling, I spoke phrases I didn't realize I still knew, remembering them from childhood, a time long since past. "I seek the Path, Wise Old One, I seek the ways of the Ancients. I have come many miles and walked over many mountains to seek the ways of the Wise Warrior."