It had begun to get very cold, and almost before he had recognized this, the gently falling snow had started knitting itself into a blanket over the land. He had been waiting outside the gates for weeks, knowing that there was a presence inside, and hoping that it would reveal itself as amiable and allow him to enter and warm his weary bones. If his experience hadn't proven time and time again that this world was one filled with distrust, he may have just walked right up and began knocking on the bars. His caution had gotten the better of him, though, and he was on the verge of death because of it.
When he first had arrived, the warm weather was just showing its last signs of disappearance. The song of birds from the trees was getting thinner, and the days were shortening at a rapid pace. He had considered forcing his way inside the manse a few times, but on one long night he noticed a faint light coming from one of the windows, and so reconsidered that approach.
When autumn gave way to winter, and nights grew longer, he began gathering up what deadfall he could, and began the process of constructing a fire pit. After piling logs and leaves as high as he dared, he suddenly became aware that he had no way of igniting his fire, thus further cascading himself into sadness and torment. Days went by, and the wood and leaves sat, cold and unlit.
When now the snow began to gather around him, something in his mind told him that he would not live through the night. Faced with his own mortality, he decided that facing whatever may be inside the building would be preferable to a slow, frozen death. His caution abandoned him, and he dashed to the gates.
Pounding on them with all his might, he cried out for help. "Please," he shouted, "I can not bear this any longer! Open your gates, that I may free myself of this eternal coldness! I have been waiting, afraid, but I now throw myself at your mercy! If you have any care for others, let me in!"
As soon as the last words had been spoken, a faint point of light became visible above the building. It floated among the snowflakes, touching none of them, yet drifting down toward his makeshift camp. Dancing on the soft wind, it finally settled amongst the woodpile that he had nearly forgotten constructing.
Almost without thought, he hurried to the fire pit, and began fanning the small ember with everything he could. At first, a small bit of smoke was all that manifested. His mind and body were one, and he began to feel his spirit lifting. The tinder began to glow, and a tiny flame burst into form. His instinct took over, telling him what to do, and he began feeding the fire oxygen from his own lungs. It began spreading to the smaller pieces of wood, and he felt the warmth licking at his face and hands. His eyes completely focused on his task, he placed bigger and bigger pieces of wood onto the rapidly growing fire. His pores were drinking in every drop of heat, reveling in it.
He had no idea how long he had been working at it, but before long the pyre was taller and brighter than he could have ever hoped. He was sweating now, exulting in the joy of simply being alive, but also hungry to keep building this wonderful beacon. The world around him came back into his thoughts, and he again became aware of the house behind him, with its high gates and garden in front. He wondered if the ember had been sent to him by the occupant, and began to turn toward the house to call out again in thanks.
When he turned, however, he saw that he and his fire were now inside the garden. How this had happened, he had no idea. He began to question his own memory. Was he inside the gates the whole time? Now having a clear view of the building's front side, he was able to see that the door was wide open, the light from inside spilling out into the garden, becoming entwined with the light from his own fire.
He went to the door, confident, and stepped inside.
Discord
Light Style