“Brother, what were you thinking about at the river’s edge when I found you?” inquired Samuel.
For a moment Jonathan, in his adolescent manner, thought it strange to think about engaging in a would-be conversation with a seven year old as if the seven year old were seventeen and his peer. But long ago the fifteen year old Jonathan had learned that his baby brother was especially gifted in the art of listening beyond his years, and he abandoned his line of thinking to answer the sincerity of the would-be teen.
“I was thinking of a time before you were born. A time when I first saw…,” his words fell short of near revelation.
“When you first saw her?” Samuel questioned after a long pause.
“You don’t know what I was going to say,” defended Jonathan.
“I do know… but I haven’t said anything to anyone.”
“How?” Jonathan questioned.
“Brother, we sleep in the same room. I hear your dreams. Between snorts and snores, you talk, talk, and talk,” giggled the younger.
With that, Jonathan scooped a clump of mud and placed it upon his brother’s head like a mucky hat that dripped down the sides of his monkish head. Samuel just shook it off with a shake like a water shedding pup.
“Tell me the story though, please. I want to hear it.” Samuel inquired.
“Well, just before you were born, when Ma’ was pregnant with you, we were at the last Festival of Blossoms…”
“Oh, like the one that’s about to happen again?” interrupted the youngling.
“Story, Samuel. I’m telling the story,” frowned Jonathan with his hands raised in the air.
“Right, sorry,” repented Samuel.
“It was a great day. We arrived into the hollow with grand excitement. I’ll never forget how the hollow looked that day. A wind had been blowing and the cherry blossoms were shedding their petals to look like snow falling from the sky. The blossoms were not falling straight down, but rather swirling in circles as if they were dancing to some sort of music that only they could hear. The ardent play had already begun and it was the first year of the new pavilion. The three-plat-formed stage was a great sight to see back then. Everyone was excited about the whole thing. It also marked the beginning of Safehaven becoming a township. Jonathan watched his brother with discernment and discovered that he was certainly intent upon listening and it afforded the elder encouragement to continue his discourse…
“Back then was different from now. The Blossom Festival used to be so fun. Now, it’s only serious talk with no games.”
“There used to be games? What games?” inquired Samuel.
“We used to play fun games as kids… That was where I first met her, and him.”
“Who’s him? You never mentioned "him" in your dreams,” Samuel interrupted.
“Yes, there’s him,” Jonathan stated as his furrowed-brow thoughts carried him away to a distant time…
The game was called, “catch the squealer,” and all the kids of the village-turned-township looked foreword to participating every year at the annual festival. The parents looked forward to it as well because it gave them a chance to have fellowship with friends without the constant interruptions of cloth jerking little hands and their constant neediness. Once gathered in the gigantic stall behind the butcher’s shop, the kids would anticipate the appearance of His Sir-ness as Bart of the Forest was called. Sir-ness was the affectionate name that he had earned because of his great generosity towards those in need. There was nothing more satisfying to the butcher than the chance to help out fellow villagers in times of need and he spent most of his time stealthily spying out those who were lacking, so he knew their need even when no one else could have known. His favorite time of year was the annual festival, no matter in which of the seven towns it was being held, for he was the supplier of the massive amount of mutton and victuals that generously fed the masses. His appearance at the back door of his butcher’s shop brought yelps from the children as the anticipation of the chase was about to commence.
Bart of the Forest was a portly man, but as strong as an ox and his second favorite past time was to hunt wild boars in the wood. Armed with only a deer horn dagger, he would often coat his bald head with inky mud before setting out on foot into the vast wilderness where he would be gone for days at a time. Although a vigorous hunter, he was also known as a kind and gentle man when he was in town and always cordial to his customers.
When he appeared in the doorway, in his hands were one of those wild boars, but only a young one whose tusks had just begun to appear and therefore were dull and harmless. Lathered in lard, the young hog was set loose by his Sir-ness and the kids scrambled to catch it as it darted away with a small explosion of squeals.
Jonathan was the first to touch the wild beast. At only eight years old, his fleet feet carried him faster than the other kids of the town. With a great and remarkable slide in the mud, he was able to grab the hind quarters of the small prey. Once attached, he was able to hold him for a whole ten seconds before the little creature slipped away, bucking and snorting. Instantly, a gaggle of kids clamored after it, all of them falling well short of its wiggly scamper. His “Sir-ness” laughed a hearty laugh that made his whole body shake, and as Jonathan watched, he winked at the boy in a “good attempt” sort of way. Jonathan slathered his way to his feet and nodded in the direction of Bart before turning once again toward the little pig.
The wild boar itself was a determined little fellow and at the moment was making an attempt to leap over the stone wall that created the barrier to hold the animal within the field of play. Unfortunately for the boar, the barrier was an immoveable one and with a great thud, the animal failed to clear the wall and fell stunned and back into the arena. What followed was an absolute pig pile! Children’s arms and legs leaped from all directions upon the poor creature and it was instantly buried beneath the small mountain of flesh, but that was what made the game so fun. At the same time that the avalanche of bodies settled upon the ground, a wave of muddy water sprang up into the air and inevitably upon each and every child present. Jonathan was saddened and elated all at the same time, for although he had missed the pig pile, he spotted the small fiend of a pig wiggle free from the fleshy mountain and scamper across the yard again and it afforded him a second chance at the prize.
What was the prize? The pig, once caught, would be awarded to the child’s family and in turn the family would be free to do with it whatever they saw fit or perhaps had need of at the moment for if sold it could fetch a handsome sum indeed. It was also a chance for the winning child to be as if they themselves were a great hunter and perhaps, for the first time in their young lives, bring home the game for the family’s needs. At the end of it all however, it was simply yet another token of generosity by the gentle butcher.
Jonathan saw his chance to make his Da’ proud and sprang into action. However, as he approached the cornered piglet, he was halted in his tracks by a flash of whirling blond hair that leapt in front of him. With the swiftness of a lighting strike, the small boar and boy were caught dead in their tracks. Although muddied to no end, she was the most beautiful creature Jonathan had ever seen. Her matted hair released ringlets that fell down over her eyes like a royal veil. Through those ringlets, clear eyes shone underneath eyebrows that were like waxing crescent moons on a harvest eve. Her nose elegantly descended from there like a gentle fall line from a majestic mount only to touch lips that were full and rich in a reddened hue. Having corralled the piglet, she laughed and turned her head toward Jonathan, causing his world to slow down for that one moment. All peripheral sights clouded on his left and right, and all at once his focus was upon the creature that would prove to haunt many of his dreams, though it would become a welcomed haunting indeed.
Unfortunately, the dreamscape was quickly smashed like a boulder falling through an icy river by a boy bearing the name James the Younger, son of James the Good, Nasgroth of