Creative Writing: The Walnut Tree

The walnut tree that had sprung up in the time of Yirva, conceived in a war and carrying a veil as old as its roots, now, with thousands of rings within its thick bark was reaching with its fingerlike branches for the stars in the night. And as the gentle summer breeze with a soft breath silently played with its green leaves, there came a cry from the cottage under its vast canopy.

It was a small wooden cottage with only two rooms. Surrounded by the thick Kordok woods, it stood alone at the site where many centuries ago the village of Boderin could be found. On its left, almost right next to it sprung a shallow stream. A stream, that once provided water to the denizens of this village. The cottage was alone in this clearing surrounded by trees,

Why were they not here yet, when they knew that today was the day? He tried to think harder on that, but he couldn’t, he needed all of his concentration on what he was doing. He exhaled, closed his eyes and continued with his complicated sentences. With the tips of his fingers he again began rhythmically touching the women’s skin. The foot, the calf, the knee… a new breath, a new sentence, a new flow of energy. And again, the foot, the calf, the knee. His back muscles were quivering from the stiff position in which he was sitting, for not even he was sure how long. His mind was throbbing from the effort needed to get the energy to the needed spot all the way from the leg, but he dared not touch a spot closer to the issue. He didn’t have great power, he always knew that. He had already accepted himself for what he is long ago, but now, when Fonelia was suffering in front of him, and he, because of his own powerlessness and ignorance couldn’t offer her the help she needed, he caught himself beginning to wish again and hope that somehow, with some sort of miracle he would become a real wizard. That he, after some unexpected rush of understanding would begin to throw around real healing spells and that he would be able not only lend her brief gulps of power, but be able to truly help Fonelia. Even this small part of his consciousness that dared fantasize and hope, was hindering his spell. So, with the power of a will born from the love he

He was doing this for about ten hours now. He again finished the cycle; he again whispered and bent his fingers in a new sign, again his gaze for a moment flicked out the window, as it did at this time of every spell since dusk time yesterday. He gazed again and tried in a single moment, in a single glance out a small window to encompass the whole of Bodrin. But like every previous attempt, he failed; nothing in the darkness of the night would tell him whether anyone arrived to Kordok. Maybe something happened to them… No!- he cut himself off before he could even finish the thought, he couldn’t let himself believe in something like that. They were their only hope if what they said was true. If… his thoughts ceased. With a final loudest moan ceased Fonelia’s cries as well, and a new sound filled the room. Laughter, uncontrollable laughter was coming out of his throat, and in his arms lay a small wrinkled form of a baby, still connected via his umbilical cord to his laughing mother. While with his prepared knife Regon for the first time separated the son from the mother, somewhere in the depths of his mind, behind all that happiness and excitement, there existed a grain of pride that his efforts were worth it. It seemed his spells succeeded. Despite her labors, Fonelia seemed all right, her chest worked overtime so she could calm herself, but even so, after all the pain she