There were two kids once. They had known each other for many years, though they were still quite young. The name of one was Anna, and the name of the second was Adrian. They were not siblings, though amongst the village they were the only two of like age, and so naturally had formed a close friendship. They would play often in the woods surrounding their small hamlet; this was a dense and ancient forest, and it stretched for acres unbound by human constructs. Not one fence, and not one wall.

The people of the village had many customs and traditions not found anywhere else except right here. Though they observed Christmas, Easter and all such festivities, they would also celebrate the forest itself. Before the men would begin a hunt, for instance, they would lay offerings of food at the feet of the trees at the edge of the wood. Or, when winter came and the trees were bereft of their leaves, they would construct candle houses from snow all about the forest, such that even on the longest nights it was still somewhat brightly lit.

The meaning or purpose of these traditions, or how they came about, had been seemingly lost. Not even the oldest, wisest man amidst the people of the village could recall the purpose of the candle houses, or for whom the offerings of food were set. Though this mattered little to the people of the village, for they had their customs and they would not break them.

The children, as children often are, put little stock into the traditions in which they took part. For them it was just as it always was, and even had there been a known meaning, it would have been lost on them. For them, while they did follow the words of their parents with diligence, fun and joy was the most important factor of any activity. And so they would escape to the forest to play; they would chase each other from clearing to clearing, watch the deer as they pranced from East to West, and pick what fruits and berries they knew they could eat. Their simple life was bliss.

And so it came to be on one midday, where a crescent moon of perfect silver, raised high above the tree tops and stood vigilant amidst a clear and as yet still blue sky, that Anna and Adrian had engaged a game of tag. From clearing to clearing they would sprint, and though Adrian was quicker, Anna had the sharper wit. Each time he would come close to catching her, she would make quick use of a dead tree or a fell stump or a sudden boulder to outmanoeuvre him. And she would jeer playfully each time she did, until Adrian eventually caught her, and it was then his time to run.

Deeper into the forest, Adrian ran. Though the shadows of nightfall crept closer with each second, neither he nor Anna feared the darkness, and the forest bore no beasts. Deeper and deeper, the thicket slowed his run, and were it not for the sound of Anna’s footsteps close behind, he may have slowed entirely. He was, however, determined to win this game. The thicket broke, and he stepped off rhythm into a new clearing, tripping as he did so, and falling face first to the ground.

Anna heard him stumble, and soon caught up to him through the path he had woven through the brush. She too, stepped into this new clearing, but her mind was sharper and she knew at once that something was not right.

On all sides were they surrounding by dense bushes, such that no light but that of the sun and moon peered in from the ceiling of the clearing. The forest floor covered in lichen and all manner of mosses, which despite it being near Summer had only now begun to flower; an array of pinks and blues. At the centre of this natural stage there stood a pointed pillar, an obelisk, of pure marble. No lichen grew upon it, and it’s sides were smooth and without blemish. Anna stepped forth and put her hand on Adrian’s shoulder; who by now too was staring at the pillar of pure white stone.

The two of them sat besides each other; they were in simple awe of the beauty of this natural figure. Even as the shadows of night finally crept across the clearing, and the space was lit only by the dim light of the moon, the stars, and those bugs which provide light, they did not move. They simply stared at the marble, and had you asked them to explain why they felt such reverence they could not have said; in fact, it was such a basal, primal feeling that even had they been adults or mystics or wise men could they not have explained their emotion in that moment.

The sounds of chirping crickets brought them once again to their senses. A glance exchanged, the darkness bid them home, and so they promptly left the clearing and the forest. Reverence and serenity transformed into confusion, and though their late return was met with much concern, they didn’t speak of what they had seen, or where they had been.

Stolen story; please report.

On the following day, still overcome, they ventured back into the wood. Their bodies, though not their minds, remembered the path back to the marble, and they once again entered in the glade and sat there, staring at the thing with awe. Time marched faster than their thoughts, and they found themselves once more on the precipice of night, with the midday shadows creeping up from the edges of the clearing.

Drifting back to their bodies from their stupor, Adrian rose to approach the pillar. Anna watched on, too weak to move. Each step he took was a great work, such was the will of the obelisk that he needed to force his body into motion. After an eternity of 10 steps, he found himself at the base of the structure, utterly dwarfed by it. His mind raced, his heart beat harder than a drum, but through enough thought and strength of will did he manage to place a single hand on the structure.

The pink and blue of the flowers, the green of the lichen carpet, the vivid emerald of the shrubbery and the dark earth of the bark of the trees. The blue of the sky, the white of the clouds. The darkness of shadow. All colours in an instant merged, smeared, running in concentric circles about his field of view, as if a hundred hounds chasing chasing each their own tail. Only the obelisk remained, motionless, a bright white beacon in the centre of the storm, the eye. His heart rate quickened further still, his eyes rolled back into his skull, yet still the spinning wouldn’t end. The darkness behind his eyelids stood still, yet his head spun faster and faster.

Anna leapt from her seat, dashing to catch Adrian as he fell. His hand, departing from the pillar, his whole body, completely limp. She caught him as he hit the ground, eyes still closed, head still spinning, heart still racing. She pulled him to the edge of the clearing, just beyond the edge. The pillar remained still standing, though she felt for it no awe, no reverence. Adrian’s eyes would not open.

She went further, forcing herself through the thicker underbrush, away from the stone, away from the clearing. Still his eyes remained locked, his body almost without life except the occasional sound of pain. With all her effort and all her tears, she had finally dragged him out into open forest, with the stone out of sight and with the clearing far behind them. Though his breathe was still ragged, his eyes drew slowly open. And his face aghast, for as he raised his eyelids from their resting place, the darkness did not lift. The spinning of his head subsided, and as he lay there, his body motion returning to him ever slowly, he could not help but sob. Both at what he had seen upon his contact with the stone, and at the fate which now befell him.

As he sobbed, Anna wept, and soon neither had tears to cry. Dejected and with sullen stride they lumbered back to the village. Though their story was to many people there told, it was only believed by a few. And as years went on, Adrian’s sight would not return. The village would continue in it’s customs, placing offerings at the wood’s edge and lighting candle houses amidst the trees. The marble stone, though many looked, was never found. And it seems that it never will.

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The being stirred as the Reverier drew his thread to it’s conclusion, “O, Reverier, such an excellent tale! And we do so agree! Listen to the droning of the wind against the, for that is our applause!”

The Reverier leaned back against the pine, as the hum of the breeze calmed and slowed his mind like honey. His eyes still closed, he let loose tension in his neck, allowing his head to tilt slightly in it’s place.

“I’m glad you liked it”, said the Reverier, “personally, I don’t like the way it ends. It’s not really a very satisfying conclusion.”

“O, Reverier, how rather would you have it end? Is there any way which satisfies your mind?”

At this the Reverier paused and thought, “I suppose it would be better if the village people went on to find the marble and destroy it, or if Anna was able to in some way recover Adrian’s sight without needing to destroy the stone.”

“O, Reverier, what a wise amendment you have dreamt! Do you see why they speak of your craft?”

“Well, it’s not really much to say how something should have ended after it already has.”

“O, Reverier, then learn to hold carefully your tongue as your recite your dreams; push your memory to the rear of your mind and allow your interpretation to breathe it new life through your words!”

There was a silence. The hum of the breeze died down.

“O, Reverier, have you more stories to tell?”

“I can tell you one about the stars becoming numbers, if you’d like.”