Rick woke slowly, awkwardly. His eyes scrunched up as if he had bitten something sour, the light feeling like the worst citrus. Blinking twice, thrice, he heard a rumbling coming from his stomach, an angry wake up call, like the worst rooster in history. He smacked his lips, feeling parched, hungry, in pain. But weirdly, he felt refreshed, rested to the absolute fullest, a night well spent. He pondered how that could be but didn’t dwell on it, pushing himself up on unsteady arms, pain feeling like spiders tickling their way up his body.
Sitting on his rump, leaning back on an unsteady bush, his eyes tried to decipher the bright light, taking a moment. When they finished, he noted a little guy standing in front of him, stiffly and maturely. It took a second for his brain to catch up with his vision, realizing that he was staring at the knight. The knight standing still, stiff like a board, back straight to a fault and eyes fixed forward. Rick was caught off guard by the still knight, shaking his head like a dog coming out of water. But the knight didn’t react, standing completely still, staring out into nothing, looking like a royal guard guarding the king.
Rick leaned closer, Bob waking up in his pocket, stretching and letting out a soundless yawn, an imitation of reality, still cute. Rick leaned close, closer to the knight, yet the knight didn’t move a muscle. Rick waved at the knight, garnering a reaction, an eye that turned to look up at him. But just as quick as the eye had looked, it looked away, continuing its stare into nothingness. If Rick didn’t know any better, it looked like the knight was sweating, sweating wooden droplets from his tiny temple. Rick waved again, Bob imitating, this time the knight didn’t react at all. If his stare was a weapon, Ricks pants would be on fire.
A part of Rick’s mind tugged in delight, a part embarrassing, a part that age should wash away. Rick shuffled out of the big bush, out into the bank of the shallow stream, rays of light beaming down on him, giving him slight warmth in the cold early morning. He stood up and turned, facing the knight, the knight facing Rick, the two standing like rivals on the battlefield, sizing one another up. Rick took the initiative, pulling out his sheathed sword as weightless as the wind, as invisible as the sun's rays, as real as his imagination. The knight took out his own sword, wooden but perfectly made, crafted by the greatest of hands. The smith could be proud.
Rick took up a stance, his two arms wrapped around the invisible sword, knight imitating. Rick bowed slightly, knight imitating. Rick took a swipe, an entire meter in front of the knight, the knight imitated. Rick strove upwards, killing the monster who dared interrupt their fight, the knight imitated. Rick took two steps back, dodging the vicious swipe of the monster's enormous tail, the knight imitated. Rick threw himself forwards, impaling the grotesque monster straight through its heart, the knight imitated. Rick felt ecstatic, he had won; He had defeated the monster; He was a hero. The knight felt the same, striking the same wondrous pose as Rick.
The two fighting heroes standing like the most life-like statues, one breathing heavily, the other imitating. Both with their arms stretched up into the air, one weighed down by a shield, the other by his painful body. Rick held the moment, staring out into the beautiful landscape, shallow stream sparkling like the most expensive castle, trees swaying like the most exotic dancers, leaves falling like the most gracious dragons. But when Rick looked down, his awe washed away upon seeing the knight, realizing that the knight was imitating him, face flushing colorfully like a ripe tomato.
Excusing himself with a soundless cough, Rick went down to the shallow stream, gulping down moutful of water, rinsing and cleansing his mouth. It was refreshingly cold, Bob seemed to enjoy it too, splashing around in delight, knight joining in, less playful but just as energetic. Rick took a big lungful of air, icy winds traveling down his throat, kicking the last sleeping limbs into action. Scents of nature being overpowered by his smelly body, two days of sweating not doing wonders on his body. He tossed around the idea of taking a quick bath. And after taking what felt like millennia of time to think, Rick decided to at least clean his wounds, enough to cleanse scabs and remove the sticky substance gluing his clothes to his body.
It was a painful process, freezing him to the bone, teeth shattering, hands shivering, body vibrating. He scrubbed and tugged with all his might, doing his best to finish as quickly as possible, wanting the warmth of travel under his belt. And after what could have been hours, probably only minutes, Rick felt satisfied, stopping immediately to jump up and out of the river, running small circles for warmth, body feeling like a walking steam cloud, like ice on fire.
After a few laps, he patted himself down, nodding with satisfaction at the work well done, feeling adequately clean to continue his journey. He picked up Bob, refilled his waterskin and looked down expectantly at the knight. The knight looked expectantly back. The two sharing a quiet moment, a moment that rekindled the memory of the two fighting a invisible monster, forcing Rick to quickly grab the knight and place him on his shoulder, an attempt to hide his warming face. Placing Bob on the opposite shoulder, Rick started walking downstream, body creaking like an old boat in water, like rusty doors swinging open. Yet, it wasn’t bad, at least compared to the two earlier days. His wounds had gotten better, his body had gotten better, pain like a slowly mellowing memory. Rick thought it weird that it had healed so well. He wasn’t a stranger to pain nor wounds, and he could say for certain that he had never had wounds like these, healed within the blink of an eye.
But Rick was no thinking man, no great philosopher, no healer, no worker of the gods. He couldn’t say why things were the way they were, nor why things happened the way they did. Rick was happy with just being able to carve his statues. But the thought of his wounds, of the reason for their existence, brough somber memories bubbling up to surface, thoughts of a wounded girl, wounded because of him, destroyed statues and a town that probably hated him. His walk reflecting that mood, walking slouched, walking non-uniformly, walking with a lack of haste. But just as quickly as his mood had soured like the worst grape, it turned steadfast. His attention grabbed by the stoic knight on his shoulder, a knight pointing his sword northward, out at the unknown, like the bravest of knights braving the scariest of mysteries. Rick felt awe, wonder at how the knight could be so brave in the face of so much unknown, Rick wanted that, needed that, he imitated that.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
With new resolve in his heart, Rick trekked down the shallow river, steps even, back straight, eyes forward. He ignored his stomachs pleas for food, ignored his bodies want for rest, ignoring what Bob and the knight was doing on his shoulders, even if it seemed fun. Walking with such fierce resolve that even dragons would tremble at his feet. The sun bearing down on him, body like a wet sponge, feet aching from the countless hidden stones, stomach like a constant roaring bear.
It was time for Rick to take a small break, droplets falling down from his eyebrows, taste of salt. He took big gulps of water, trickling down his face onto his already wet shirt and sitting down on the only big rock he could find. Bob and the knight took the opportunity to jump off his shoulder, taking their respective stance as they faced one another. Bob wearing a happy slanted smile, the knight expressionless, ready for anything. The two fighting one another like dancers on a stage, Rick sitting on the front row, spectating the brilliant spectacle. If brilliant referred to two kids hitting each other with sticks, one laughing soundlessly, the other focused like the most pristine monk.
Shades moved to rest on the trio, Rick collecting his weary body, the wooden performers perfecting their craft. Shadows cast long and wide, time was getting low, time to get moving again. Rick called out to the two performers, getting their attention with two well-meaning claps, the two performers running to get the best seat on Rick’s shoulders. The two fighting as the knight was the victor, getting Rick’s right shoulder, fighting like brothers sharing a room, like siblings bickering about dishes. It amused Rick and confused him at the same time. He didn’t remember when he had taught Bob how to fight, nor did he think the knight had lived long enough to learn such a thing. And now that he thought about it, how was the knight, acting like a knight.
But those thoughts would have to wait, for in the distance, he could hear the cries of birds, of many birds. It wasn’t unusual to hear them singing their songs. What was unusual was hearing their cries, cries of many, many birds gathered within one location. Rick paused in his step, shook on what to do, about what it meant, about who it could be. It could be a human, it could be a monster, it could be nothing, Rick didn’t know, couldn’t know. He had a decision to make; The birds had flown somewhere from down the path, which meant something was there, probably. Either he could hope for nothing bad, or he could divert, change his course.
It didn’t take long for Rick to make a decision, deciding on braving the shallow river, away from trouble. His shoes, socks and pants growing increasingly wet, a problem to deal with later. But in the middle of his trek, standing in the middle of the shallow river, a scream echoed out, several screams. They were close, closer than Rick first had thought, voices like small adults, like whimpering puppies. It made Rick pause, standing still with his head expanding with explosive emotions. But most of all, he panicked, unsure on what to do, didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know, what to do.
He heard a splash, turned around in freight, spotting the knight up to his neck in water, braving the rushing river. He took slow, determined steps, eyes narrowed like the finest steel, sword and shield held high, body taut with strain as he pushed through the crushing force of the river. Rick still didn’t move, frozen not only from the cold, staring wide eyed at the knight. Only taking action as the knight slipped, foot caught on algae. Jumping forward, Rick grabbed him, coating his own entire body with icy cold water. Mind jumping in high alert, cold washing away all doubts, body feeling younger by twenty years. He jumped up on his feet, mouth screaming soundlessly, carried by invisible strength, guided by the knight’s bravery, pointed in the direction of the screams.
Two pumping legs pushed to the last of their abilities, flying out of the shallow river and into the vast forest, past bushes and trees, scratches accumulating from passing branches. The knight held his sword firmly, pointing forwards, Bob holding on with stumpy arms, tuckered into Rick’s chest pocket. Rick ran, body pumped and pumping from the shock of the cold, mind thinking yet wasn’t. Like watching paint dry, like looking in a mirror, like water in a waterfall.
He tore through a thick bush, the sight of children running in the opposite direction met his eyes. Closer to Rick, Rick spotted a lone child, old enough to play in scary forest with friends, not old enough to know why that was a bad idea. And standing in between Rick and the lone child, was a small monster, no bigger than a dog, no wider than a tree, canines sticking out longer than Rick’s fingers. It seemed agitated, back raised in an aggressive manner, like a cat threatening others to stay away. The monster didn’t seem to want a fight, pleased that the other kids had run away, less pleased that the lone kid was still there, standing in defiance. But that was far from the truth. Rick could tell that easily as the kid was quivering, lips parted, eyes wide. The kid wasn’t screaming; The kid wasn’t running. He just stood there, like a man turned to stone, like a river frozen in winter.
The monster took a step forward, growling with a deep resonant voice, like marbles gurgled in water. It stopped Rick in his tracks; It didn’t stop the knight, struggling free of Rick’s light grip, running on short legs in a quick pace towards the towering monster, thrice the size of the knight, nothing to him. Sword drawn, held high, the knight shouted at the top of his non-existent lungs. The knight was silent, quiet in his sprint, yet the monster seemed to notice, jumping around to face the new enemy. The monster growling even louder, reaching one paw forward in defiance, the knight doing the same, two destined to clash.
Rick closed his eyes, just for a moment, a moment to brace himself, dagger held tight. He breathed out and opened his eyes, just in time to see the two destined clashing. The monster using it's long claws to splinter the wooden surface of the knight's shield, removing the top half with ease. The knight having been ready for it, ducked under the pawed hand, letting the shield take the brunt of the force then striking up with his sword, up at the exposed belly of the monster. The sword didn’t pierce, it barely drew blood, but it hurt, the monster reacting with a loud screeching, jumping back in alarm, its back exposed to Rick. Rick hesitated, but only for a moment, jumping with speed not known to him, dagger held high. The monster heard the ruffle, reacted to the sound, but was too slow, its back impaled with a sharp knife. It screamed, it yelled, it yelped in sorrow, then it was silent.
The knight climbed up on the monster, Rick pulling out his knife, the knight holding up his sword in triumph, Rick looking down with mild alarm. The two brought out of their respective thoughts as they remembered what they had fought for, fought to protect. The two looking out and seeing the lone child, face showing complex emotions, child feeling complex emotions. A whirlwind of thoughts, a stream of emotions, a plethora of things he felt.
But one thing stood out from all the emotions, like a beacon of light, a pillar in sand, a lighthouse on the shore. It was the feeling of relief. Relief that manifested into the boy crying big tears, falling down on his knees. The knight smiled brightly, Rick smiled on the inside. They had saved a little boy. And that felt okay.