The Travelling Man held the old iron stick out to the boy’s father. His father reached across and closed his fingers over it and for a moment they were gripping it together. Then the Travelling Man took his hand away and the old iron was passed and given to his father.
The father ran the fingers of his free hand along the surface of the stick. He was feeling the old iron, the weight and the coldness of it. He spoke and his voice was low.
“They had spears that threw fire,” he said. “They lifted their spears and the fire jumped out. And the animals came and they were happy to die.”
He looked up and now the boy could see his father’s face because as he spoke a gust of wind came in through the opening and the fire leapt up flapping towards it.
The Travelling Man spoke into the guttering flames.
“Old time,” he said.
“Old iron,” said the father.
“And both long gone,” said the Travelling Man.
You can help make this book happen. Please share it, and encourage your followers to share it, too.
Join 49 other awesome people who subscribe to new posts on this blog.