Once a Warrior
Once there was a great warrior.
He was strong. He was fast. He felt no remorse.
He had many trophies from many wars. The skulls of countless enemies, both men and beasts, decorated his house.
But everyone was afraid of him.
Mothers would cross the street with their children. Men would turn their gaze from him. He was welcome in no inns. Even the king was terrified of him.
One day, the warrior was walking in the early morning and he came upon a man, a man almost as big as the warrior himself. He was shouting at a woman, who couldn't speak, only moan.
He was threatening to sell her into slavery, foaming at the mouth with rage. The woman was ugly, and one of her eyes was cloudy. She had burned the bread that morning and the man was furious.
The warrior tapped him on the shoulder and growled. The man, in his rage forgot all the stories and banners and wars struck the warrior across the face with a loaf of hard, burned bread.
Even though his face was a map of scars, through some dark miracle, the bread drew blood.
When the angry bread man realized what he had done, first he shit his pants and collapsed to the ground, weeping in terror.
The great warrior sighed heavily, knowing what he had done.
And so he walked away, the terrified sobs of the baker fading in the distance.
The warrior sat down by the river, and also wept. In his grief he didn't notice the mute come to him, with clean cloth and string to stitch his wound.
She wiped the blood away. She sewed up the wound.
She kissed the warrior on the cheek and hugged him.
It was at the moment he remembered many tales of a great wizard on the mountain that overlooks the city. He told the woman he would return soon, and told her that she should not let people be mean to her. She nodded and hugged the great warrior once more.
And then he took off running.
He had heard so many stories about the wizard, that he knew the wizard was the man to ask.
He was strong. He was fast. He felt no remorse.
He had many trophies from many wars. The skulls of countless enemies, both men and beasts, decorated his house.
But everyone was afraid of him.
Mothers would cross the street with their children. Men would turn their gaze from him. He was welcome in no inns. Even the king was terrified of him.
One day, the warrior was walking in the early morning and he came upon a man, a man almost as big as the warrior himself. He was shouting at a woman, who couldn't speak, only moan.
He was threatening to sell her into slavery, foaming at the mouth with rage. The woman was ugly, and one of her eyes was cloudy. She had burned the bread that morning and the man was furious.
The warrior tapped him on the shoulder and growled. The man, in his rage forgot all the stories and banners and wars struck the warrior across the face with a loaf of hard, burned bread.
Even though his face was a map of scars, through some dark miracle, the bread drew blood.
When the angry bread man realized what he had done, first he shit his pants and collapsed to the ground, weeping in terror.
The great warrior sighed heavily, knowing what he had done.
And so he walked away, the terrified sobs of the baker fading in the distance.
The warrior sat down by the river, and also wept. In his grief he didn't notice the mute come to him, with clean cloth and string to stitch his wound.
She wiped the blood away. She sewed up the wound.
She kissed the warrior on the cheek and hugged him.
It was at the moment he remembered many tales of a great wizard on the mountain that overlooks the city. He told the woman he would return soon, and told her that she should not let people be mean to her. She nodded and hugged the great warrior once more.
And then he took off running.
He had heard so many stories about the wizard, that he knew the wizard was the man to ask.
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