The Small Moment, Appreciated

The Small Moment, Appreciated

Math, son of Methwy, Commander of the Knights of Saint Michael in the North, husband of Mara, sire of Calum and Mirriam and Lyngheid and Guthorm ran, heavily up the slope toward the ancient pine that stood sentinel by the faint trail.

His legs burned. He gasped great lungs-full of cool forest air. Two strides past the tree, he leaped behind it into the low brush, and backed against its rough, bark. He kissed the cross guard of his slim sword. "Well Kratos, we still have work to do," he whispered.

He listened.

Footfalls of heavy boots and the sound of twigs snapping signaled his pursuers' approach. Three feaondes rumbled up the slope. Their heavy, hobnailed boots, crashed on the loose rocks. They charged ran past the tree growling obscene threats.

Math stepped out and with both hands swung Kratos in a Zwerchhau.

The largest feaonde, the one closest to the tree, stopped in the middle of a curse. His head flipped back and tumbled over his right shoulder. His body took two more strides before it realized it was dead and collapsed.

The last thing his mates saw was a slim, almost gaunt, man of middle height. His blue tunic was torn and sweat soaked. On his breast flashed the silver badge of Saint Michael's Order. Outshining the badge were his intense eyes, pale blue, hard and merciless. His slim sword danced around their guards and shields to deal them death.

"I'm old," Math said to himself as he wiped his sword on clean leaves, disdaining to use their cloaks. "I would have had two down before the third was aware, even in my middle years." He trotted on through the sweet smelling pine forest listening for his pursuers.

Math pushed through some low branches and stopped. The land had been split by some ancient trouble. He stood on a sheer cliff, looking down. It was at least four rods to the bottom. All smooth stone. Five strides away to his right ivy grew down the cliff like a green waterfall. He ran to it, sheathed Kratos and swung himself over the edge. Two fathom's down, some of the ivy gave way. He fell a cubit.

He heard shouting and looked up.

Six feaondes were dancing about and pointing below.

He lowered himself.

They didn't follow. Instead, they were calling.

He looked down. Three triads of feaondes on hele waited for him below.

They shouted to him. They beat their shields with their spears.

Half the ivy parted. He fell another fathom.

Glancing to his right, Math saw a mountain laurel growing against the granite cliff. Its roots spread out grasping the gray rock seeking meager sustenance in tiny crevasses. Its trunk was twisted and bent by many old storms. On its longest branch three perfect blossoms quivered white in the spring breezes.

Math remembered his long life with Mara; the dangers they had faced together; the sadness and the happiness they had shared.

Tears sprang unbidden into his eyes and cascaded down his cheeks.

Inside him a vast fountain of joy stirred, spurted, and burst.

Math laughed. He saw. He understood.

Unbidden words sprang into his mind. He spoke them into life.

When over the cliff

Being is the small moment,

Appreciated

Kratos appeared in Math's hand without a thought.

He kissed the cross hilt.

He let go of the ivy.

Math son of Methwy, Commander of the Knights of Saint Michael in the North, husband of Mara, sire of Calum and Mirriam and Lyngheid and Guthorm fell, laughing through his tears, like the thunderbolt of God upon his enemies.