The Flying Sorcerers

I found my wife huddled in the crotch of two branches, beneath an uprooted tree.

“Are you all right?” I asked, helping her to her feet.

She nodded.

“Good. Then find some bandage and tape up my ribs. I am in pain.”

“Yes, my husband.” She began dutifully to tug at her skirt.

I recognized that; it was one of her favorites. I put out my hand, “No, do not tear that. Find something else. That is all that you have left in the world. Keep it intact.”

She looked up at me, grateful tears flooding her eyes, “Yes, my husband …” She paused, and I knew she wanted to say something else, but feared.

“Go on …” I urged.

She fell to her knees, unmindful of the mud, and clasped fiercely at my hands, “Oh, my husband, I feared so for your safety. My heart is filled with such gladness at the sight of you, I cannot bear it. I could not bear the thought of life without you.” She kissed my hands, buried her face against my waist. I stroked the fur on the top of her head, mud-smeared though it was. It did not matter; we were both soaked through.

“It’s all right…” I murmured gently.

“Oh, tell me it is, tell me. Tell me that the danger is over, that all is right with the world again.”

“Stand up, woman,” I said. She did. “I have lost everything. My nest is gone and my tree has been uprooted. I know not where any of my children are, nor where my other wives have fled to. I have nothing. Only the clothes I am wearing. But I am still not a poor man .. .”

“Not …?” She looked at me, brown eyes wide with wonder.

“No, I am not. I still have one woman, a good woman.” I looked into her eyes, wide and glowing with love. “A woman with a strong back and a willingness to work. And it is enough. I can rebuild. Now go and find that bandage. My ribs ache with the pain of standing.”

“Oh yes, my husband. Yes.” She began moving cautiously across the mud-covered landscape. I lowered myself care-fully to the ground. To rest, to sleep …