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What do they mean? I know what I think they mean. A warning, obviously. That's why I carry them, rolled up tightly and covered in plastic to protect the faded, red ink. That's why the old man gave them to me. I mean, I think he gave them to me.
He was dying when we found him, stumbling out of the mountains, casting long shadows as the sun set behind him. I noticed him first and sounded the alarm. When it became clear he wouldn't last the night, Father brought him into our tent. He lay trembling in the light of the fire, gaunt and wrinkled, holding his chest. His piercing, grey eyes stared at nothing one moment, then darted around frantically the next but he'd always blink and return to that same, purposeful stare. Always the same stare. Strong enough to burn a hole in the canvas of our tent. I said as much and his eyes turned to me, ten years old, stretching to be as tall as I could amongst my elder kin. His gaze turned as the millstone turns, grinding and shredding everything in its way. Turning until it came to rest on me.
"The clouds set high," he whispered, gesturing feebly toward the smoke hole in the roof of our tent. Father leaned in closer straining to hear the old man's words.
"The sun goes on forever til it dips to kiss the trees. The earth holds the secret but runs away from the rock." He was looking right at me, his wild eyes not darting or distant this time but firmly locked to mine. "Dig deep in your heart if you want to survive..." Here he dropped into wracking coughs, spraying a fine mist of blood onto his tattered clothes. Into the air. Mixing with the smoke. Reaching towards me. I ran as fast as I could away from the reaching blood.
Before we packed to leave the next morning, after the man had died and his body had been given to the smoke, I followed the stream into the cliffs where he had come from. I found his camp. There was a lean-to, strong and well made, long used but not easily moved. Perhaps he had stayed there a while. I wondered what that could be like - to stay in one place for an entire moon cycle! Maybe even longer. I repressed a shudder and glanced about nervously. That was when I noticed the boulder at the edge of the water and something about the old man's stare came back to me. It was as if he was there in front of me, repeating his words, his eyes boring into me as water seeps into stone.
"...survive..."
A raven's call brought the present back, crashing squarely onto my remembrances like a cartload of scrap metal. But it had been enough. I walked to the rock by the rushing stream and began to dig...
He was dying when we found him, stumbling out of the mountains, casting long shadows as the sun set behind him. I noticed him first and sounded the alarm. When it became clear he wouldn't last the night, Father brought him into our tent. He lay trembling in the light of the fire, gaunt and wrinkled, holding his chest. His piercing, grey eyes stared at nothing one moment, then darted around frantically the next but he'd always blink and return to that same, purposeful stare. Always the same stare. Strong enough to burn a hole in the canvas of our tent. I said as much and his eyes turned to me, ten years old, stretching to be as tall as I could amongst my elder kin. His gaze turned as the millstone turns, grinding and shredding everything in its way. Turning until it came to rest on me.
"The clouds set high," he whispered, gesturing feebly toward the smoke hole in the roof of our tent. Father leaned in closer straining to hear the old man's words.
"The sun goes on forever til it dips to kiss the trees. The earth holds the secret but runs away from the rock." He was looking right at me, his wild eyes not darting or distant this time but firmly locked to mine. "Dig deep in your heart if you want to survive..." Here he dropped into wracking coughs, spraying a fine mist of blood onto his tattered clothes. Into the air. Mixing with the smoke. Reaching towards me. I ran as fast as I could away from the reaching blood.
Before we packed to leave the next morning, after the man had died and his body had been given to the smoke, I followed the stream into the cliffs where he had come from. I found his camp. There was a lean-to, strong and well made, long used but not easily moved. Perhaps he had stayed there a while. I wondered what that could be like - to stay in one place for an entire moon cycle! Maybe even longer. I repressed a shudder and glanced about nervously. That was when I noticed the boulder at the edge of the water and something about the old man's stare came back to me. It was as if he was there in front of me, repeating his words, his eyes boring into me as water seeps into stone.
"...survive..."
A raven's call brought the present back, crashing squarely onto my remembrances like a cartload of scrap metal. But it had been enough. I walked to the rock by the rushing stream and began to dig...