Short Stories – Patience

Based upon this artwork by Jess-madhouse.

He had waited for many years, so he would continue to wait. The cold mountain air no longer perturbed him, even as it howled through the temple ruins and tried to bite at his face. In his heart, in his blood, he felt warm, for he knew it would not be long, before he would be free of his great, noble burden.

The traveller would come, and claim that which they needed – the old man’s life. That was why he knew the traveller was near – his body grew warm, even in the chill, in preparation for his ascent, and the new quest. He just had to wait…

But it had been so long since he had seen another person, years in fact. The last two weary adventurers to dare venture to the temple had been unworthy, unclean, heathens that he had banished, lest they tarnish such a holy land, and ruin his life’s work. Before that, there had been the bandit, who mistook his age for weakness. The sharp, jagged rocks of the mountains were unforgiving, an extension of his own, unyielding mission. The bandit would never be found.

He had never bee noted for his lack of patience, but now he began to fidget slightly. He was beyond certain that out there, in the swirling mists, his relief and purpose was at hand. His eyes strained to make out shapes, hoping to see something new among the familiar wrecked stone and abandoned structures, but to no avail. It was foolish, to be almost standing on tiptoe, like a young child eagerly waiting for a parent, but he found himself filled with such youthful vigour now.

“Where are you?” He grumbled to himself. Inwardly he chided himself for such impertinence. The saviour would soon avail themselves of his blood, and from there, save everyone. He just had to wait.

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