if you want the full context of what this is about you'll have to ask me. tell me what you think of this!
The wise man was sitting before a small fire on which rested a small kettle that had yet to boil. There were chickens everywhere, the smallest of which was seated comfortably on the old man’s head. He wore a grey tattered robe that, due to how he was sitting- crosslegged- exposed his feeble, boney looking knees. When Sabine appoached the doorway she heard the faint sounds he was making, a chant of sorts, and when she entered the space he stopped abruptly to reveal a very wide set of cold blue eyes. Then he smiled. Sabine wondered how he could live in such a place, alone and so exposed to the elements for this house had no roof and the walls were like short fences. It was almost like a decayed temple.
When Sabine saw him smile she took another step forward but as soon as she did this the chickens, which were clucking about on the floor, spooked and began running about and kicking up an awful cloud of bird feathers and dirt. The old man stood quickly and grabbed a broom from the corner, in all the commotion, and began beating the chickens down and back into silence. When they were all calmed he sat back down and the same small chicken sat back on his head. He looked up at Sabine and did not smile when he said, “My birds don’t like you.”
“I’m so sorry!” she said. “I was told to find you and that you could help me.”
“And what have you to offer me in return for helping someone such as yourself, stranger?”
Sabine hadn’t thought of that. She still had her bag. She began riffling through it, nervously. She had little to offer. Her wallet had money in it but she doubted a man like this, in a place like this, would have any use for that. There was a small notebook and a pen. There was a silver bracelet that she had been wearing at the art gallery. She took the bracelet out of her purse and held it out to the old man.
“I don’t care for trinkets, my dear. Have you anything sweet?” His eyes widened as he asked this. Sabine went back into her purse and found a small metal tin that had some mints in it.
“I have these.” She offered the tin to the man and he became so excited. He stood with such a jerky quickness that the chickens once again began romping about all over. The old man shrieked and grabbed the broom a second time. Sabine backed up and watched as the old man beat them down once again. With the broom in hand he walked to Sabine and took the tin out of her hands. He opened it and placed one of the small mints in on his tongue.
“Fantastic!” he cried in joy. “What do you call them?”
“Peppermints.” She replied meekly.
“I love them. I will help you.” He went back to his seat before the fire. “You wish to go home, do you not?”
Sabine nodded.
“Right. Then you must go from here to the City of Kings. There you must find a man called Jacob. He will help you from there.” The old man held the tin like the most precious of treasures and opened it again and placed a second on his tongue. “Truly wonderful!” he exclaimed.
The wise man was sitting before a small fire on which rested a small kettle that had yet to boil. There were chickens everywhere, the smallest of which was seated comfortably on the old man’s head. He wore a grey tattered robe that, due to how he was sitting- crosslegged- exposed his feeble, boney looking knees. When Sabine appoached the doorway she heard the faint sounds he was making, a chant of sorts, and when she entered the space he stopped abruptly to reveal a very wide set of cold blue eyes. Then he smiled. Sabine wondered how he could live in such a place, alone and so exposed to the elements for this house had no roof and the walls were like short fences. It was almost like a decayed temple.
When Sabine saw him smile she took another step forward but as soon as she did this the chickens, which were clucking about on the floor, spooked and began running about and kicking up an awful cloud of bird feathers and dirt. The old man stood quickly and grabbed a broom from the corner, in all the commotion, and began beating the chickens down and back into silence. When they were all calmed he sat back down and the same small chicken sat back on his head. He looked up at Sabine and did not smile when he said, “My birds don’t like you.”
“I’m so sorry!” she said. “I was told to find you and that you could help me.”
“And what have you to offer me in return for helping someone such as yourself, stranger?”
Sabine hadn’t thought of that. She still had her bag. She began riffling through it, nervously. She had little to offer. Her wallet had money in it but she doubted a man like this, in a place like this, would have any use for that. There was a small notebook and a pen. There was a silver bracelet that she had been wearing at the art gallery. She took the bracelet out of her purse and held it out to the old man.
“I don’t care for trinkets, my dear. Have you anything sweet?” His eyes widened as he asked this. Sabine went back into her purse and found a small metal tin that had some mints in it.
“I have these.” She offered the tin to the man and he became so excited. He stood with such a jerky quickness that the chickens once again began romping about all over. The old man shrieked and grabbed the broom a second time. Sabine backed up and watched as the old man beat them down once again. With the broom in hand he walked to Sabine and took the tin out of her hands. He opened it and placed one of the small mints in on his tongue.
“Fantastic!” he cried in joy. “What do you call them?”
“Peppermints.” She replied meekly.
“I love them. I will help you.” He went back to his seat before the fire. “You wish to go home, do you not?”
Sabine nodded.
“Right. Then you must go from here to the City of Kings. There you must find a man called Jacob. He will help you from there.” The old man held the tin like the most precious of treasures and opened it again and placed a second on his tongue. “Truly wonderful!” he exclaimed.
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