When someone tries to apologize, let them.
It’s already an uncomfortable situation, but they came to you anyway. That deserves compassion.
Resist the temptation to kick them in the teeth or slam the door in their face.
Wendell rubbed his arms out of habit. It wasn’t that he was cold…it just seemed like the thing to do. He knew there was a chill in the air as he worked his way up the mountain side—he could feel the cool movement across the hairs on his arm, but the mägoweave he wore kept him warm. The stars and moon definitely provided enough light to walk in, Wendell just hoped he was going in the right direction.
Could have sent me in the opposite direction for all I know, he pondered, holding onto a branch as he worked his was down an embankment. The sound of the trickling water kept him company. It made the trip, alone, in the dark, more bearable, more…friendly. He leapt forward and kicked a rock across the landscape. He almost regretted not staying long enough to thank Evan’s mother. Well, he mused, smiling to himself, at least they’ll have food this winter. He pondered, Hmmm—maybe I should have left more…so they could buy animals for their barn. He shook the thought from his mind. They know what they need, they don’t need my help. None of my business.
The walk wasn’t too unbearable. The terrain continued to climb. It was easy enough to navigate in the open, the sky bright with stars, but there was another group of trees ahead. The last grove had plunged Wendell into complete blackness. He’d almost fallen over on his face if it wasn’t for the density of trees—allowing him to catch himself. Without a torch or flashlight this wasn’t going to get easier until morning.
The landscape behind him was incredible. The blue haze of the moonlight saturated the mountains, the forest areas, even the small village below. The thinning clouds snuck across the sky, trying to go unnoticed, as the twin moons sang their twilight song through the night. Wendell could see scattered lights throughout the village, candles, sharing their faint glow.
I wonder if Chuck picked up a book on communication? Wendell sat down on a flat rock, and pulled off one of his sneakers into the pebbles irritating his heels. It seems like no matter who I talk to, no matter what I say, I tick someone off. “It’s not like I’m trying to,” he said to himself out loud. Thoughts of starting an international war over a dinner conversation popped into his mind.
His ears twitched at the sound of a twig snapping. Wendell’s hair on the back of his neck stood up.
What was that? Wendell waited, trying to ignore the sound of water. He gulped, holding perfectly still—his ears straining. Nothing. Just my imaginat…
A rock tumbled down the embankment, clattering against the stone outcroppings. Wendell’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest. His pulse quickened. Crap, crap…what do I do? There wasn’t anywhere to hide. He was out in the open. Exposed. He looked up the mountainside. The trees!
Sprinting as fast as he could, Wendell pushed himself through the aches and pains. The footing was poor and several times he stumbled on loose stones. He caught himself before falling backwards and tumbling down the mountainside. When he made it to the edge of the forest, he collapsed behind a tree a few yards in. He opened his mouth wide, trying to silence his panting—gripping his side under the t-shirt. Ow. Ow. Ow. The path ahead was complete blackness, the dense trees blocking the moonlight. I’m never going to find my way through there.
He let his head fall back against the bark of the tree and clenched his eyes tight. They’re going find me, they’re going to find me…
“Wendell?” called an unfamiliar voice, one nearly out of breath.
There was a pause, then a huff and grumble. “I’m too tired for this!” With a sigh of exasperation, Evan took a deep breath and, “Wendell!”
“You found me,” he replied, startling the blacksmith. Evan threw up his fists as Wendell stepped out from behind the tree. “What do you want, Evan?”
The blacksmith held up a finger and leaned over his knees, gulping air. “Sorry. Been,…a long…time since I’ve…run…that far.”
“There was no need for you to come after me.” Wendell sat down against a sapling, wincing, “You made your intentions and feelings plain enough.”
“Yeah,…about that,” Evan appeared nervous. He swayed in place, looking about and then rubbing his hands together. “Help me gather some wood, will you? It’s cold…and we should talk.”
“Talk?”
Again, the blacksmith averted his gaze. He knelt at the base of a tree, scooping up pine needles and twigs. “I, uh, shouldn’t have been so rude,” he paused, almost choking on the words. “So, I decided to come and and bring you back…until you’re properly rested.”
Wendell gave a wry smile, “Because you feel guilty after finding gold?” Even in the shadows, Wendell could see Evan flinch. “Sorry—that was rude,” he added, “But I need to get to Til-Thorin as quickly as possible.”
Evan cleared an area on the ground with his boot. “No, I deserved that.” He paused, looking over at Wendell. “I was unkind. I shouldn’t have been. But we helped you because we didn’t want you to die. My father would have wanted it that way…so it was wrong for me to…blame you for decisions we made.”
“Huh,” Wendell grunted, “so you ran all that way, just to apologize?”
“No. I came all this way to make sure you get to Til-Thorin quickly and safely.”
Wendell handed Evan the sticks lying near him. The young blacksmith had already pulled something from a pouch and was fiddling with a rope or string. “Well that’s awfully noble of you.”
“Wrong again,” he smirked, “That’s from the guilt of seeing the gold.”
Wendell laughed.
Before long a fire was crackling and both young men found comfort in the heat and light of the flame. They sat in silence for some time, the sound of rushing water making the only conversation.
“So are we going back then?” Wendell asked.
Evan poked the embers with a stick, “If you’re in a rush to get to the keep, there’s no point really. Unless you have more of that gold to buy a horse. Not much point in going back just to go forward now, is there?”
Wendell shrugged, “Not really.”
“It’s late and I’ve been pounding metal all day—I could use a short nap by a warm fire, the start off at dawn. I know some hunting trails that should shave off close to a day if you don’t mind a faster pace?”
Wendell rubbed his hands together, “Appreciate that.”
Evan nodded, “Yup.”
A few minutes passed, again in silence. “The gold isn’t…stollen, is it?”
Wendell burst out laughing.
Evan shrugged and pointed at Wendell with the stick, “You’re not exactly dressed like a rich man.” He stared at the smiley face, which had its eyes closed, enjoying the warmth. “Not sure what you’re dressed like, to be honest.”
“No, it’s not stollen,” Wendell reassure him, “It’s…” How do I explain this? “…a gift.” It was the only thing that popped into is mind.
Evan frowned, “We didn’t find any gold on you.”
Wendell scratched his cheek, “No.” Pulling the small coin purse from his pocket, he tossed it over to the blacksmith. “I got it from here.”
Evan looked inside the purse then looked at Wendell curiously. Shaking the pouch upside down, “It’s empty.” And he tosses it back.
Reaching in with two fingers, Wendell pulled out a silver coin and tossed it to Evan. “Only for you. It’s my, well…I guess you could say, my inheritance. Don’t have a clue how it works and don’t have a clue how much is in there. Could be nearly gone for all I know, but the money appears for me.”
Evan scoffed, and tossed both the purse and the coin back at Wendell. Looking back to the fire, his smile turned to a near scowl. His jaw clenching tight. “Has to be nice to not have a care in the world.”
It was Wendell’s turn to scoff. “Money doesn’t solve my problems.”
“Can’t hurt,” Evan added.
“How long…has your father been been gone?”
Evan tossed the stick into the fire and laid on his side, turning his back to the flames.
Bad question, Wendell. Hit a soft spot, I guess. After a minute Wendell did likewise, lying back on the ground. Thoughts of his own father, the funeral, holding his mother for days on end as she wept. Always unsure as to what they would do without his father’s strength, his wisdom and guidance. It was hell.
“I lost my father a few years ago,” Wendell said softly, “It’s…never been the same since.”
Evan didn’t respond.
“Thing is, nothing has worked out like people said it would,” he continued, speaking out loud, more to himself than the blacksmith. “When we buried dad, people would come to my mother and I and tell us things would be alright…or that time will heal the wound. But you know what? It’s all a lie.”
The crackling of the fire sounded exceptionally loud in the midst of the trees, the rippling water playing a steady tempo.
“It never gets better.” Wendell put his hands under his head, breathing deeply and exhaling slowly. “Ever.”
Evan slowly rolled over to face Wendell, but he remained silent.
“You know why?” Wendell continued, staring up at the sky, “Because my dad owns that part of my heart. It belongs to him and time can’t fill that hole. Not time, not a person, nothing. It belongs to him and so over time, I’ve learned that it won’t ever get better…I’ll just learn to cope.”
He choked back the memories and sniffed loudly. “Some days are hell, and then others…not so bad.”
Wendell flipped back over, putting his back to Evan and the fire. “Thanks for showing up, Evan, regardless of the reason. I’m pretty sure I would have gotten lost.”
Minutes passed and Wendell drifted off to asleep. The warmth of the fire felt good. Now that he had company, he felt more confident that things would be ok. It wasn’t until he was at the verge of unconsciousness, that he heard Evan whisper.
“You’re welcome.”
