The waiting

They say that of all things waiting is hardest. Patience is not a virtue as they say, but a chore. To do. That is the province of mankind. The boy, he waited. In the stillness of the night where only the night folk intruded with their quiet hums and chirps. In the busyness of the day when all about him the children played and laughed. He waited. Every day he went to the tent of the elders and asked. "Is it time?"
Every time the answer was the same, "Eo knows."
They taught him much in the elders tent. They ways of the wind in the air, the way of the snake in the grass. In the brightest sunlight they showed him how to find shade, and in the deepest night the way to see without light. Water the fountain of life and how it was found, how to move without your sight--only your ears, and your hands, and your smell to guide you.

In the tent of the Summer he asked of the great men and they showed him how to shoot the bow, and the way of a spear in a warriors hands. At first they rebuffed him, told him that he was youth, and to small to face. He told them he was preparing for a quest, and that he must learn and wait. So, they taught him.


Foot races, learning of the Taur and the creatures that walked on it. These things he had neglected as a child and with hungry speed he learned them now. Spring waned, summer waxed and autumn with its bright leaves and the nip of the air came upon them. His training far from complete made him far more than he had been. No champion was he, but eagerly he fought and ran and shot an arrow two hundred paces as though it were sixty.

Winter. Dark and cold as night. Even in the snow he learned much and taught his body the ways of warmth in cold. No animal could emerge from its hiding that he could not hunt from its hole and return with meat in the dead of winter.

Through all this he grew strong, and wise, and in the end a man.

Spring.

There is no season like it. New life, and for the tribe those who would be new men.

In the very heart of the melt where new shoots of green come out and show their face to the melting snow come the boys of the tribe to the circle of stones. There the men wait. In the camp the women cry and beat their breasts--they are not ready--that is what they say. The boys come. Those who do not are boys indeed, perhaps next year. To be a man with the tribe one must enter the circle of fire, and accept the quest from the head of his clan. To each boy a different quest given by those who know him best. The elders have much say in this, and to certain boys they give quests of special weight.

The boy stood outside the circle, neither of the boys, nor of the men. He was questing. All knew that now. It was a lonely place. Where no one is, caught in a limbo that he could not even rightly explain. A dream? Only the old men believed in dreams. He had not had it for months, not since the beginning of winter. In his mind their was some doubt. He could step into the circle now.

What was it but a circle. He had watched last night as they had made the magic fire and knew how it was done. Only the most foolish boy would be hurt. He looked down at the circle beneath his feet. No one would question him. They had told him he had to make his own way in this world, and he was free to choose as he would.
His feet felt suddenly light. Just such a small step, to be drawn in and be a part of the circle. He could feel the drum beats as the spoke to his heart and drew at him. Only the men or the questors. Did he really have a quest. From somewhere far away he felt his foot lifting and draw itself towards the circle.

He caught it. It was a will beyond any other, but he pulled it backwards and set it firmly next to the other. With a great resolve he turned his body and walked away from the circle planting one foot after the other with care and determination. He had left the heavy beating of the drums and only the pounding of his feet one after the other disturbed the sounds. Away from the village and the circle and all that would draw him from his quest. If he were to quest, he would quest. There was no half mark.

At a lone tree apart from the village he lay down and in the coming darkness slept.