The young child stood on his toes, peeking outside through the wooden window as his long brown curls fluttered in the breeze. In the light of early dawn, underneath the fading stars, the old man was out there again.
The old man sat cross-legged on the cobbles outside the shack, with his back straight up and his hands cupped in his lap, facing away. His wispy graying-blonde hair rustled as the wind brought the ocean air ashore. His head was bowed, and his eyes closed. He spoke under his breath.
The boy made his way to the door, and then slowly stepped outside onto the cobbles. His bare feet stamped ever so slightly against the stones. The boy tried to quiet his steps, to stay undetected. But the old man heard him. The old man’s sea green eyes parted open with a twinkle, and he smiled to himself.
“You have the subtlety of a large platypus, dear Heror,” he chimed.
Young Heror jumped at the sound of the man’s voice – surprised that his cover had been blown so soon – and now Ucankacei turned and observed him with a smile.
The boy had added a bit more weight onto his bones since Ucankacei had picked him up off the docks. His skin was still dirty. His hair was still matted and unruly, and he was still shy and unsure at times. But there was a certain curiosity that Ucankacei noticed would not be quenched. A sense of wanderlust, adventure – recklessness, impulsiveness, yes – but an indomitable spirit behind his fiery blue eyes, that Ucankacei had already come to admire.
As their eyes met, Ucankacei nodded to the young boy.
“You may join me if you’d like.”
Heror clasped his right arm with a nervous hand, and then he slowly walked up beside Ucankacei. He sat down on the cobbles and crossed his legs just as the old man did, feeling the sea breeze on his skin.
“What are you doing?” Heror asked as he glanced at Ucankacei, his words stilted.
“I’m praying.”
“To who?”
“The Gods. Today, it is Bor and Opela and Pyn.”
“For who?”
“The correct phrase is ‘for whom,’” Ucankacei noted with a guiding smile; Heror’s Kivvenean was improving, but there was still work to do.
“Oh…” Heror muttered. “For… woom, then?”
“‘Whom,’” Ucankacei corrected.
“Woom.”
“‘Whom,’” Ucankacei said again. “Exactly like the word ‘who’, but with an ‘m’ at the end. Use the ‘h’ as the guiding letter.”
“Whom,” Heror tried again, very cautiously.
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“Very good!” Ucankacei exclaimed with a grin. “‘Whom.’”
“Whom,” Heror repeated, still a bit unsure. “For whom, then?”
“Well…”
Ucankacei trailed off. Then he smiled again and looked at Heror.
“I’m praying for you,” Ucankacei answered, with a certain sincerity in his tone. “That you may finally find peace, and that you may finally find your place in the world. I’m praying for myself… that I might be able to teach you and help you grow. I’m praying that my wilting bones can stay in one piece while I do it.”
He paused to let out a short chuckle. Then he continued.
“I’m praying that Pyn will give us good weather in Halvalen, so that we may be able to fish along the coast,” the old man went on. “I pray that the hunts will be bountiful, and the wilds kind to us. I pray that we will find contentment in the little things. I pray that the Kingdom’s beauty will remain…”
Now Ucankacei trailed off again. He felt a gust of wind flow by. It was silent for a moment.
“Do you ever hear an answer?” Heror asked.
Ucankacei glanced at Heror, and now he bowed his head. His brow furrowed, and he thought about his reply. After a short silence, he took a deep breath and lifted his head again. With tired eyes, he nodded once.
“I see them,” the old man said, with the smallest of smiles. “But not always in ways you’d expect.”
“Do you wonder if…”
Ucankacei eyed the boy. The boy was trying to find the words.
“Do you wonder if… it is only because you pray and seek out these answers… that you see them?”
Ucankacei was impressed at the boy’s thoughtfulness. The old man pondered to himself. And then he glanced at young Heror again, with a quiet smirk.
“If that was the case… would that really be such a bad thing?”
Heror looked at the old man, and then he looked ahead. It went quiet again. While Ucankacei closed his eyes and went back to his prayer, Heror’s youthful eyes drifted around. To the east, the sky was reddening. Workers were making their way to the docks across the cobbles.
Soon, Heror’s eyes fell on something, on the ground not far ahead. The cobble stones were largely uniform, but there was something growing in a patch of dirt between two stones, less than fifteen feet away. In this small crevice of dirt, there was a flower – with a tall green stem and flowing ellipsis leaves, and brilliant golden petals that encircled a dark eye-like center. It swayed in the wind.
“Look,” Heror said impulsively, a breath of wonder in his voice.
Ucankacei paused his prayer again and opened his eyes, and it wasn’t long before he too noticed the flower. He smiled again.
“A sunflower,” Ucankacei noted.
“How does it grow here?” Heror asked.
“A sunflower seed must have been carried along the wind – blown in from the western meadowlands,” Ucankacei surmised, before laughing: “And it found the one small dirt patch in the city to set its roots…”
Young Heror looked at it with curiosity.
“Will it be able to grow us food?”
Ucankacei eyed the child with a look of concern. The young boy still clutched his stomach.
“Not much,” Ucankacei said solemnly. “Only the seeds on its back when it dies.”
“It will die?” Heror realized, sadness breaching his voice.
“Yes,” Ucankacei told him. “When the winds cool in Wilvalen… it will lose its bloom…”
The old man glanced at the young boy, and he saw that this saddened the child even more. The old man smiled and looked on, as the light of the morning sun began to show in the east.
“But when it dies and loses its bloom,” the old man went on. “You will be able to take seeds off of the flower head. And you can row north along the coast, until you find a patch of fertile soil. You can plant the seeds, and new flowers will grow. Stronger and brighter and more brilliant than before.”