Fragments Gallery
The Storyteller: Remembrance
"He was alone. He was a survivor in the midst of a massacre. He still lay where he had collapsed from exhaustion and injury hours before. The battle had been long and vicious, but eventually the enemy had retreated. They had saved the town, but the price for freedom had been high. Even now he could hear men searching the field for survivors. He longed to respond to their cries but he struggled to breathe, calling out was far beyond him. Instead the man numbly watched the skies above as the sun sank and stars emerged from the heavens. Eventually his eyes closed in a troubled sleep."
The Storyteller glanced around at his rapt audience before continuing.
"Time passed. Shortly after the sun had once more graced the horizon one of the wandering soldiers came across the survivor. At first the soldier, Liam was his name, had thought that the other was dead. But as he had begun to move on the survivor had shifted. Liam turned back for a closer look. The man was in rough shape. His black armor, the armor of his regiment, was scuffed and dented as well as heavily splattered with mud and blood. The armor covering the man’s side had been torn open by a savage blow revealing a ragged laceration in the skin below, likely caused by the same swing. The man's blade, which lay by his side, had been shattered by the force of multiple impacts. Liam knelt at the man's side and at his arrival the survivor had begun to shift restlessly. We are here; Liam murmured in the man's ear, we will take care of you. With his words the survivor stilled and settled into a deeper sleep."
Wide eyed the children stared at the storyteller. They were hanging onto his every word. The fire in the center of the room crackled and launched a cascade of sparks up towards the hole in the roof of the building.
"Liam called out and another soldier responded. Soon a stretcher arrived. It was carried by a pair of the townsfolk, stepping in now to help care for the wounded. After a quick check to see if the survivor could be moved they lifted him onto the stretcher and bore him away. The town was a distance away, its walls were in sight but to return there they had to once more cross the bloody field. Liam continued his search as the townsmen carried the survivor away. He hoped he could find more survivors…"
"Were there more?" Interrupted a young boy, "Did he find more?"
"Yes… yes he did. Liam searched for hours and eventually he did find another…" the Storyteller trailed off. His eyes glazed over as he became lost in his own thoughts. Then the fire crackled and he was brought back to his story and the present. He continued after taking a sip from the mug at his side.
"The field the townsfolk carried the survivor across was littered with fallen soldiers. The battle had cost much in the way of human lives on both sides. The carnage was terrible to behold, the bodies lay where they had fallen, and no one had yet had the time to gather them. The journey was short and yet painful. The townsfolk recognized many of the soldiers, they had laughed, ate and drank with them the night before. But now they were gone, only leaving behind empty shells."
The Storyteller paused again as old memories resurfaced. Tears began to form in his eyes but he blinked them away.
"Once the survivor had reached the city walls the townsfolk took him into their care as they did with any other friendly soldiers found on the battlefield. It was the least they could do. For it had been for them that they had fought. The soldiers had given their lives to protect the townsfolk from those who sought to destroy their lives. It is for this that we remember. For we are those townsfolk. Again and again soldiers fight, and some give their lives, in our defense. For them we are grateful. We will never forget."
The storyteller fell silent. The story was done, yet no one left. In the silence minutes ticked past as the Storyteller and his audience remembered...