Humble Wood and Stone

Part 6 of A Hellrider’s Fond Musings

Since last we spoke, I have been thinking a lot about the wonder of creating. I spent so much of the first half, maybe even more of my life focusing on protecting what already existed or training others to do the same while I shepherded others along that I lost sight of such a simple thing. There is beauty and humility in the act of making something.

Ena traveled regularly. I was not fond of her absence but something within me knew she’d return as sure as dawn which set my heart at ease. It left me with time to fill and plenty of chores with which to fill it. There were chickens and goats to care for alongside faithful Odysseus. That old warhorse grew plump on the clover and grasses around the cottage each spring and summer so he got put to work as well, if more gently than myself. The cottage itself needed love. The roof would need some new thatch, or the chimney would need to be cleaned or dozens of other tasks big and small.

If I am being honest I was overwhelmed at first. I had to swallow more than a little pride when I went to ask at Halsin’s keep for help. It was not that I wanted anyone to do the work for me. I wanted to be taught. I needed to be of use.

It was my skills at arms that I traded for skills at hammer, nail and saw. The carpenter’s son wanted to learn the basics of fighting with a sword and board. They were skills I could impart with ease. The mason needed willing arms to carry stone at his worksite near Moonrise. I brought Odysseus and we pulled stone for him so I could learn the wonders of stonework.

What wondrous things such masters could make. I was a humble pupil but eager. Soon I began to understand that wood and stone had voices. If I did not heed the grain of the wood I was working with it would not be able to suit the purpose I desired for it. If I did not learn by touch and by heart how to measure the ingredients for mortar my stones would never set. If I did not focus on the details of stones waiting to be arrayed in a sturdy wall, I would never get them to fit in a way that did not require mortar and thus allowed them strength to stand long after we were gone from this place.

I was not creating life, no, but I was creating a frame in which life could be lived.

I built a wall and gate for the gardens to mark them out, then a fence to keep the goats out of trouble. I created arbors through trial and error until we had beautiful frames for grapes to grow on, then wisteria, even some lilacs whose smell lingered on warm spring nights. I fixed the pair of beds we so often pushed together when we slept with a brace that kept them from separating in the night. Why I could not just make us one bed in which to sleep…

A matter for another time, I think.

Was this what the gods felt like? I often pondered this while I worked. Sometimes the creations did not obey the vision I had and crumbled despite my best wishes. Other times I started with one idea and just let the wood or stone speak and ended up with something that surpassed my dreams, like the beautiful chest I made with a dozen tiny drawers for Ena’s healing items. The turning of joints, the feel of the surface growing almost soft after fine sanding, it all gave me such peace. Such solace.

Was this my penance? That I would work to create now, to give back to those who gave so much to me or to those I tragically failed?

I was no longer a powerful paladin of Helm yet sometimes I still felt whispers of that life.  The carpenter’s boy, the children in Halsin’s care, and so many others kept me feeling protective always. I built shutters for the windows to guard against winter storms and summer winds. If my body could no longer guard them at least I could find other ways.

One evening Ena stood in the doorway of the cottage and watched as I finished putting away my tools in the shed I built on the edge of the garden. She wore a strange smile as she often did. I so wish I could see what she saw and yet some days I wondered if it was better that I did not.

“What’s on your mind, little bird?”

“Do you realize how peaceful you look?”

I grinned abashedly and shook my head as I approached the door. I rubbed the back of my neck and shrugged as I paused. “Maybe for once I am.”

“You deserve to be.”

I watched her smile soften as she spoke. There was a wisp of sorrow about her features I could not understand.

“I am not so sure about that but it’s a debate for another day,” I decided as I got closer to her and the doorway.

“You know. You’ll admit it soon enough.” Her words were soft, tender as a summer breeze. She stood on the step and kissed my cheek before she went back inside.

I had often wondered what home felt like. I had spent so long chasing it for others, trying to save it for others, trying to build it for others and at the moment I expected it least I had made it for myself. I watched her inside the cottage as she set the table for our evening meal and was enraptured by the simple beauty of it all. A warm hearth, a safe house, a feeling of peace and security, these were all there. Right there. Right at the side of someone I never expected.

I entered the house before I had time to understand what moved me. I crossed the cottage to where she stood beside the table and caught her wrist. She turned to look up at me, those startling eyes so welcoming and serene. My gaze fell to her lips and I can’t even remember making a conscious choice then. I simply bent and kissed her.

The real wonder to me? She did not recoil. She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me in return.

My heart soared. I pulled her close and let that kiss linger. Now I won’t bore you with salacious details for there are none. I wasn’t ready for that, and I would not demean her by sharing such private things. I will say her lips tasted of honey and apples, as sweet as the scent of honeysuckle on her skin.

My candle burned so brightly beside me that night, there in the house we were building together. What blessings can come in something so humbly made of stone and wood, hm?