Chapter 14
Into the Wild
There is
but one world and everything that is imaginable is necessary to it. For this
world also which seems to us a thing of stone and flower and blood is not a
thing at all but is a tale. And all in it is a tale and each tale the sum of
all lesser tales and yet these are also the selfsame tale and contain as well
all else within them. So everything is necessary. Every least thing. This is
the hard lesson. Nothing can be dispensed with. Nothing despised. Because the
seams are hid from us, you see. The joinery. The way in which the world is
made. We have no way to know what could be taken away. What omitted. We have no
way to tell what might stand and what might fall. And those seams that are hid
from us are of course in the tale itself and the tale has no abode or place of
beind except in the telling only and there it lives and makes its home and
therefore we can never be done with the telling. Of the telling there is no
end. And . . . in whatever . . . place by whatever . . . name or by no name at
all . . . all tales are one. Rightly heard all tales are one. – Cormac
McCarthy
There is no
coincidence. Only the illusion of coincidence. – Alan Moore
Regenulfa
stopped running. She leaned forward with
her hands on her thighs and gasped to catch her breath. The deep forest had closed in around her and
made her feel safe, finally. She managed
to get the air into her lungs and slowly steadied her breathing. She found a nearby rock that looked like it
would make a reasonable seat for her weary body. How
long had she fled, deeper and deeper into the wild woods of the Mongtane Noire? She had no idea, but she was tired and
thirsty, that much she knew, and evening was beginning to set in. That she should be in a panic, she
understood, but she was not. In fact,
she was calmer than she had ever recalled being outside of her carefree
girlhood years, which ended only a few years hence.
Now,
she leaned back against her rock and looked up at the darkening canopy of
branches and leaves knit like poor cloth above her. She knew the sun would set quickly behind the
mountains as was its habit in this region, she had been here long enough to
know that. It did not worry her. Nothing did. She felt like God himself was giving her a
strength, courage and calmness that she could barely understand. Maybe, some of it was the sense of relief at
her newfound freedom. No destiny planned
by her parents stretched before now … only that which she would make for
herself … even if she starved in a few days … it was freedom.
Her
skyward meditations were interrupted by the sound of fallen leaves rustling
near her. She looked down to see a doe
approach her slowly but intently. The
deer was looking right at her. She
locked eyes with the creature. It
continued in its steady gait, walking right up to her.
Regenulfa
was startled, but she did not show it.
She was full of love, and her eyes beamed it clearly to the doe. In a moment more the deer had reached her
rock and put its nose against her cheek.
Without giving a further thought to the peculiarity of the situation,
she gently pet the animal, stroking its nose and then behind its ears. The dear was not in the least disturbed by
this, clearly it was enjoying the contact.
The
Merovingian princess hardly heard the sounds of far more rustling leaves, so
engrossed was she in her caressing the soft fur of the dear. She calmly did eventually spare a glance
around her. With no sense of surprise
whatsoever, she noticed another dozen or so deer emerging from the gathering
darkness of the forest around her. They
all drew nearer and nearer Regenulfa’s rock until they surrounded her
completely. The princess smiled.
copyright 2017 Diana Hignutt
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