Usually we don't allow strangers to our wounds and even more so we don't allow them to heal. I don't know why I stayed with him, even after he chained me to an iron collar and hung the chains on my hands. Yes, I healed his wounds and then I received freedom as a reward, but I am still with him... For some reason, his lingering wounds bound me to him. But in one of the night halts I remember how once again a small tear ran down my cheek, and this time I couldn't hide it from my companion, although I didn't know it.
Sitting with my back to Soul I heard the question:
- Why are you crying, looking at the fire?
At that moment I realized that my wounds also need to be healed by someone, if it is beyond my power, the shaman.
- Do you really want to know? - I answered quietly, without turning to the speaker.
However, there was no response line, and I turned to cat face. Without blinking, he looked straight at my face from his loose long hair and nodded silently. Brushing that single tear from my face, I went to the dying fire on the opposite side and began a long-forgotten ritual. Hands themselves made the necessary movements, creating streams of invisible energy, and the fire began to rise from the ashes like a phoenix. At first I whispered learned words in the ancient language of the ancestors of the One Tribe, but the louder I spoke, the stronger the fire started. Closing my eyes, I remembered the pictures of the past: the happy and the saddest. I remembered the whole story, which was kept by the spirits of my tribe, whose guardian I became so suddenly. Raising my hands to the night sky, I felt as if the memories were separated from me and appear one after another in the thick smoke that covered the foggy light of the full moon. A rising column of smoke, like a monster, hung over me, fully showing all the burden that my soul was carrying, and now, seeing it in reality, I suddenly felt better that I was not alone. No longer the one who will now keep this story.