The supplicant stood swaying at the feet of the wise one – head heavy, pack slung by one strap in the crook of an arm, the dust of miles caked upon a troubled brow.
“Master…” (Deep breath)
“…I seek…” [Sharp exhalation]“…THE TRUTH!”
The wise one took in the supplicant toe to crown.
“Fuck.” She said with a smile. “Another dreamer.”
I’ve just caught up with the posts I’ve missed.
Once again, Daniel, you have found eloquence in informality. You say what you want to say so well, and then you make a clean exit. The perfect guest for my brain.