A Chance Meeting in An Unusual Place

 

            Once upon a time, before our time, when the world was much newer, there was a mighty Walker. We may call him Nimson. In the years of his strength he was said, by those who chatter, to be 12 cubits tall. This is a bit of a mystery, but mystery is good for the soul, is it not? It begets humility sometimes.
            This Nimson was an observant and reflective fellow. He spoke little. He watched carefully.
            He had observed several tribes of man, those who live no longer, and also those who have survived until the present day. He had judged them, from afar, to be difficult, restless, and quarrelsome, but also instructive to observe.
            Once this mighty Walker was out doing a bit of hunting, he used a spear by the way. He passed through the forest of his home, relishing the beauty of the tall trees, listening to the songs of the birds, gazing rapt at flowers, feeling the wind moving over the earth. He was so enchanted by it all that he walked on further than usual until the trees gave way to grasslands. He stood for a moment, judging whether to go further into unfamiliar territory, but finally told himself, “Yes, it is good.” So on he went. The grasslands spread out before him, mysterious, and open to the sky.
            There were no trails there, just the endless grass waving languidly in the wind. It was almost hypnotic. Nimson walked on wondering what sort of prey might live in this tall endless grass.
            At last he noticed that though the land appeared to be flat, it was not utterly flat. There were dips and hollows which appeared suddenly when he came upon them. Some had springs of water birthing small streams that wandered off to the next low spot. He was charmed. He stopped and lapped the water, then walked on.
            Night came, and with it a brilliant full moon. He was getting hungry.
            The wind brought Nimson the smell of some kind of smoke. It wasn’t just wood smoke. There was something else in the scent. Something about this scent interested him. It beckoned.
            Then he saw firelight. Realizing that it must be a campsite, he drew silently near.
            There, in the glow of the flames, he saw a woman of the tribe of modern man. She wore a straight garment of tanned leather and long dark hair hung about her shoulders. It was not apparent whether she be mother or maiden. She was alone except for a horse, tied to a bush nearby. This small horse happened to be covered in bundles and such.
            Over the fire, she had laid a large round thing like a shield, he thought. Upon its surface were laid pieces of meat, the source of the strangely scented smoke. Nimson had eaten boars, so he knew pork when he smelled it, but this was more than just pork, there was something different about it.
            He wasn’t afraid of her. He feared nothing. And he was curious.
            Nimson stepped out into the firelight. Before her eyes he stood there impossibly tall, clothed in his own covering of jet black hair, with a face like a man’s, but different somehow. He had amber colored eyes and an inquisitive expression.
            She took him in with a quick glance and then smiled up at him.
            “Are you hungry, Warrior?” she smiled her coyote smile.
            “Perhaps I am, Woman,” he answered, noting the smile.
            “I have meat here, Warrior. Honied, spiced, and smoked boar’s flesh. Will you eat?” said she.
            “I have never eaten meat touched by fire, Woman,” said Nimson. “It smells very good.”
            “Sit, and I will serve you,” she said, edging close and gazing boldly up into his face.
            Nimson sat on the trampled grass near the fire. The woman fished some pieces of meat off of the metal object, laid them on a flat wooden vessel of some sort and then she laid the plate, for of course it was a plate, near him where he sat cross-legged on the trampled grass.
            “Warrior, if you will come with me and be my love, and live among my people, you shall have meat such as this every day. Together with you, I will rule over the lives of men and women, for you are very powerful!” said the dark haired woman with intense, shining eyes of pale blue.
            Nimson laughed and rose to his feet once more, without touching the cooked meat waiting for him on the wooden plate on the grass.
            Fasting, he left her there, walking back into the moonlit tall grass, following his own trail toward his home in the forest. He stopped at the spring again and drank.
            He stood then, wiped the excess water off of his face, looked up at the moon, tucked his spear under his left arm and walked again.
            Once, as he walked, he snorted derisively.

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