It's All About the Giving
The weather was wonderful, just a slight breeze and a nice lift of warmth from the sun. She wondered if the layers would be too much, but thought perhaps the cavern would have a bit of chill, shielded from the warmth of the days as it was. Making her way down the path to the shoreline and across the treacherous rocks, she did her best to shed herself of the thoughts that swirled unbidden in her mind. She needed to just let go. The note book was lost. Perhaps irretreivably, and if that was so, it was just one more loss along the road. She would just have to learn to live with that. She had dealt with far more, she would deal with this too.
She found her way to the small strip that separated her from what had been her bit of shelter and had turned out to be far more the night before. She slipped the pack onto both shoulders and made her way up to the ledge where she had hidden from the rain. Peering up through the sun, she could just make out the small edge that hid the entrance to the cavern. She slipped the backpack around and drew out the flashlight, slipping it into her front jacket pocket. Then she fastened the pack back on and began the climb, pleased that she had remembered her gloves this time. They made the climbing a bit more difficult as it was harder to feel the rock beneath her hands, but they protected her already torn palms and that was worth the extra effort to secure her hold. Reaching the entrance, she said a quick prayer that all would be as right as it could be when she reached the cove, flicked on the light and began the return journey.
The larger beam allowed her to see her path more clearly. She was surprised to note how lucky she had been not to stumble on the rough hewn path or cut herself on the jutting edges of the walls along the way. Perhaps it was a good thing that she had only the penlight to guide her the night before, else she might have gone no farther than this passage in waiting out the storm. She made it to the cavern and set down the pack. She took out the gauze, plaster and ointment and set them to the side. Then she pulled out the golf-ball retreiver. It seemed like an even crazier idea now that she was here. But with nothing else to work with, she was going to try it. She made her way down to the cove, holding her breath in anticipation of what she might find.
The bird was still there. She could just make out the slow breathing in the rise and fall of its shape as it lay with its head still turned to tuck under the wounded wing. She skirted around the ledge that rose around the pebbled beach-like area and out as far toward the surf as she dared. Looking up she strove to find a place to hold onto. She needed something to anchor one hand while she leaned out with the retriever in the hopes that it would catch some vegetation and drag it back to her. She smiled. In all the times she had gone retrieveing balls with her Dad, she had never failed to come up with weed from the bottom of the ponds. He, on the other hand, usually came up with the prizes, the sought after golf balls. She could remember him standing at the side of the water-hazards holding up ball after ball, triumphant. As if he had struck gold. That wide lop-sided grin on his face. Wiping a slow tear from her cheek, she grabbed at the upper rock ledge and leaned out. "Give us a hand, Da," she whispered, and she stuck the retriever down into the sea with its maw open. Holding tight to the rock ledge and leaning out as far as she could in order to get the tool as deep as she could, she let it sink in, then closed its grip. She could feel herself starting to slip on the wet edge. She struggled to regain her footing, her feet sliding on the wet rock. Pulling as hard as she could with her one anchored arm she became alarmed as her fingers slipped there too. This was not the place to take a swim. The sea was far too active. She dug in with the tips of her fingers and willed the toes of her boots to hit something, anything that they could hold ground against. Just as she was sure she was going in, she felt her finger tips find a slight groove in the rock ledge and dug in. Her body swaying wildly at this point, she swung herself backward and landed, tool in hand, hard on her backside on the rock ledge. Her head banged against the rock wall, but she didn't care. She wasn't in the sea, she hadn't lost her ball-retreiver, life was good. When her breathing had recovered, she opened her eyes to check her "catch."
"Thank you, Da," she said to the wind and the sea spray. She had pulled up a small fist full of sea weed. Not enough for more than a day's feeding, but certainly more than her bird-friend had seen of late. She gingerly pulled herself up and carefully made her way back to the pebbled beach. She used the tool to present the food to the bird, laying it just in reach of it, should it unwind that graceful neck. It didn't move at all. Concerned she ran for the medicinal aid she had brought, added a bottle of water and went back to him.
She approached perhaps too fast. She got no nearer than 5 feet when the cacophany began. It was so loud she fell to her knees in an effort to cover her ears and not drop what she carried. His two guardians were shrieking a clear warning to stay away. She stared at them plaintively. Couldn't they see their friend needed help?
"Just what the Hell do you think you are doing here? You canna be touchin' that bird."
Her head swiveled so fast it could have come right off her neck. What the blazes was he doing here?
She would have recognized the voice anywhere after this morning, but here in this sacred cathedral, here it was very wrong.
"It is you who doesn't belong here. And you have no idea what I can and cannot do. Just stay out of my way."
Roary was on her so fast it seemed like he simply appeared from the far side of the cavern's darkness to be next to her there. He took her by the shoulders and shook her, none too gently. "You have no idea what you are into, Lass."
"I think I do. This swan needs help and I intend to provide it. Now leave off." She stared at him. The stubborn tilt of her chin was nothing in comparison to the absolute iron will reflected in her eyes. She calmly moved each of his hands from her shoulders, one by one, as if they were a taint that needed cleansing. Then she stood and moved away from him. She started to hum the chant from the night before. He knelt there as she had left him, transfixed by the sounds she was making.
The wounded bird lifted his elegant neck just enough to give her the single-eyed stare of the night before. She went to him without hesitation, lifting a strand of the seaweed and offering it to him. He took it from her, the beak careful not to nip her fingers. It was clear there was some sort of truce between them, a trust or something. She unwrapped the bandage from the night before. Roary saw this for the first time and gradually began to realize that she had already been here. The questions about the cove and the book about the birds made sense now, at least the book about the birds did. He watched as she washed the wound and used the flashlight to look at it more thoroughly, continuing to hum as she did so. He did not even notice that he had begun to hum along with her. In fact, he did not even notice that the other swans had settled down into the cove and were no longer shrieking. They were simply watching, keenly watching what was transpiring. She lathed ointment onto some gauze, dried the area with more gauze and bandaged the wound, tying it up as she had before. She looked the bird in the eye. "You need to eat you know and you should keep the wing dry. I can come tomorrow and try to put a plaster on this. According to the book I read, this should heal in a few days, maybe a week if we keep it clean and help it stitch back together. I think you will be able to fly again then. I don't know why, but I think you understand much of what I am trying to tell you. I just want you to know, I promise that I will give and do whatever it takes to help you out of this plight." The swan raised its head a bit higher and looked at her a bit longer and perhaps more curiously than it had before. They shared a long glance. She was tempted to pat its beautiful neck, but did not dare that intimacy. She simply nodded and then packed her things and moved away. When she had retreated, she was happy to note that he was eating at least a bit of her offering.
The smile lasted until she turned to see Roary sitting there.
"Why are you here?" she demanded.
"I followed you," he said simply.
"What?"
"I followed you. All that nonsense about birds and the interest in the area, it intrigued me. I wanted to know what you were doing. So I followed you. I never would have guessed in a million years that you would be mixed up in tale over 300 years old."
"You are a very strange man, and a stalker to boot. I would appreciate it if you would just go. I did not call you and I don't need you, as you can plainly see. If you go now and leave me in peace, I won't need to talk to the Guarda about your behavior."
"Ah, but you do need me. You have no idea what you have stumbled into. And you certainly don't know the geasa you have just pledged or what it could mean to you," he said mysteriously.
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