The old man got out of the coach and limped over the hill, to the house. He was so excited to have finally made it. He would need to apologize for being so late, he thought. Scrambling past the last few trees he stopped and saw a smoldering pile of wood. The house had…… burned down?
“Ah yes, a great big fire, it was. It started late at night and took all the poor souls of the house.” boomed a stout young gentleman, who told the old man that he was the son’s neighbor. “All the members of the house were asleep, they say. The mother, the father, the infant son, and the little girl” “Two.” The old man whispered. “There were two little girls” The gentleman continued “When we came to check the rubble the next morning we saw that they had forgotten the kettle on, perhaps waiting for someone, and well, the rest is history” “I’d like to be left alone, please.” the old man begged quietly “This was my son’s house and his family lived here” Quietly sat down on a tree stump, the old man stretched his old limbs and breathed out a slow sigh. The air had gone still around him. His coat pocket felt especially heavy. He reached into it and pulled out a small wooden horse. The old man smiled. He remembered when his son was just a boy and had gotten this small wooden horse for his first birthday. The old man would now give it to his grandson. The leaves rustled in the treetops and the breeze carried away the sound of the old man gently weeping. The new moon was solemn. Jintan knew that the Moon would need to sleep once a month so she could keep all her stories from being forgotten. Every new moon, Jintan knew not to disturb her. And he would hide so as to not wake her. The Moon would wade across the sky with a slow, haunting silence. Snuffed of light, she spends the night cherishing the memories of all people, who have been and who are to come. For her job was to honor memory and life, and all that it brings.