A Beginning – Steven Walsh

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.

Once upon a time there was a small village.  The inhabitants of this village were quiet, keeping mostly to themselves.  Visitors were always welcomed with open arms, and the villagers were happy and content, going about their daily lives with little concern for the outside world.

On a day much like any other, the sea breeze wafted in gently rocking the fishing boats in the port, raising small clouds as it passed up the dusty streets, and following the gentle incline up the valley.  Birds sang, dogs barked, and a small boy sat savouring the sun on his face, clutching his brand new shoes to his chest with unconcealed joy.

Towards midday a shape crested the horizon of the hills surrounding the village and began to make its way slowly down the road to the sea-side community.  As it came closer the shape resolved itself into a wagon.  The large wooden structure looked like it was originally designed to carry some form of cargo, but it had been converted into a make-shift mobile home.

Every day, the boy and his friends kept one eye on the road as they played, looking out for travellers or traders who might bring some news, trinkets or other excitement to add to their otherwise largely predictable days. Hence, as as the wagon continued down the hill, the children ran from their play in the streets up to inspect and greet this new arrival. Rushing and racing each other the boys were quite close before they took much notice of the solitary figure behind the reins of the large black stallion which pulled the wagon.

“One day”, boomed a deep voice startling the boys to a halt. “you will run into someone you will be less eager to greet”, and as the figure raised his head the boys recoiled at the dark angry face which now regarded them with its unwavering gaze.  Time seemed to halt, and the children momentarily failed to realise that the black beast was still moving ponderously towards them. It took one of the younger children deciding the turn and take flight to startle the others into a similar course of action.

It was this headlong, panting rush of children tearing back through the village which caused Dom to stop his work and step from the smithy to glance up the hill and regard the stranger, and because of that to also take in the distinctive markings on the flag fluttering above the wagon. This was a day Dom had known would come. The Founders had arrived.

Astride the wagon, Founder M met the eyes of the figure who emerged from one the buildings, and returned his gaze until finally the figure moved from the doorway towards the middle of the street to await him.  “Good” thought M, this was a man who could potentially save him from much heart-ache.  It was always a sensitive thing, entering a new village, the Founders reputation proceeded them, but many listened to the stories and heard only things to fear.  Few, like this man, seemed to grasp the greater purpose and truly understand that this was not an occasion for running or alarms or pitchforks.

M directed his horse toward the man and proceeded down to initiate the meeting which would truly decide not just the direction of the day, but the future of a nation.

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