Hermes's Den

Gather, gather, gather if you would. I feel it’s time I wove this one before you all again. There are some things I’ve been hearing of that I’m not sure if are true. If they are, it’s my honor and duty to replay this for you all. It may save us a great deal later on and a bit of strain on my bones is good to keep them spry. Remember to let me some space, now. We don’t want any hats catching fire, isn’t that true, Elliot? That’s a lad. Now, before I begin, as always, I want to pay tribute to those who have already sailed for distant shores. I wish for those of us who have crossed, who understand this story and have walked this path to step forward and breathe again with me. May my voice be your voice and my sight be your sight.

            These stories are old and layered, bent in a way, just like the music. If you listen in the right places for long enough, you’ll hear the history of it, but you can’t rush. Nothing sings like a habitat when given its time and willing ears. I don’t get out much now, not like I used to in my young days, but that’s why I love rivers. Growing up, I was always told the ocean’ll wash you clean, and that’s true, but a river’ll tell you such things that you never feel dirty again. This one comes from my good friend, the Hudson, who received it by a tributary. I think it was the Moodna or a nameless one, so take it with a grain of salt, if you wish, but my words are honest all the same.

            When the leaves were still young for the first time and the land still flushed with its first bounty, nestled part of the way up one of our peaks not far from here sat a Figure and he sat brooding. Beneath the curve of his supple cheek, an indignant smirk flowed away from his face and back again. As it moved, it seemed to wash him anew in its contents. Each dip satiated an empty aquifer, one hungry to taste the depth of his emotions. It was full to breaking yet the water table lingered still beneath ground.

            He looked on in silence. The cool morning’s ashy softness was studded by the chirp and whistle of birds. Birds and, insidiously, the uneven scraping of a shovel throwing half full amounts of dirt away. The weapon’s wielder spared a glance in his general direction, but failed to piece him out. He did not move when he was looked at—didn’t stop moving either, but flowed on in a circle, gently. He could pick out all he needed to know from wielder’s stance, the way the wielder went through the movements and the panic behind the motion. What looked like desperation more than kindness is what drove the wielder.

            I can be desperate and unkind as well, thought the Figure, gathering himself up, pulling his wiry coils back from his soft face, and falling close to the wielder to examine. It does not take so much effort.

There wasn’t much to the wielder, the aura of one in desperate search of something and his hurried breaths conveyed something like hunger. Yes, that was it. The figure could feel it rolling off the man now. Deep within him, past his bones, there was a cold, jaw snapping hunger. His teeth pried apart for long enough to utter “You find it” before grinding back together with his panicked jerks. “If it’s so easy, you find it.”

            The Figure was struck by him. Enraptured, you might say. It had been a long time since he had felt the type of energy set before him. If he had to guess, it was when he took this withered form on, that of a hiker who felt just so tempestuous it took half a thought to take control. This was years ago and little remained of it. He was lost to the world, a memory fading to the people. Just then, he felt a sharp jab and a deep scrap somewhere in his side.

“Would you look at that,” the wielder stood up and, something held in his dirty hands besides his shovel, began walking off. “You did find it.”

The Figure suppressed a groan as another deep grating scrape ran through his side. What could that be? he whispered. What could possibly be making such a forsaken sensation in him, like he was being gouged, like he was being emptied. Like he was being stripped from the inside out. Oh, how he felt so truly, suddenly, hungry.

Show me what it is you have found. He stretched himself fully before flowing into and filling the wielder. For the moment, he folded neatly. The day was still young, and it was not yet time for breaking things. The wielder hardly noticed the difference, so well did the Figure fit—so oblivious the wielder is. The wielder shivered and walked on. His foot falls were weighty, not quite leaden when he walked, but the Figure took it unto him and simmered. It would do for this trip.

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