Tale 9- The Abandoned Portrait

 One cold night, Sarafelle and the Traveler found themselves in a desolate field, a clearing where they could see thousands of stars above. The two spent a moment gazing at the brilliant sky, before remembering they should search for shelter, and where possible, a person to help them complete their goal. After wandering around the fields for a while, they came across a lone shepherd and his sheep, the man warming himself by a brilliant fire which lit up the night. He spotted them, and waved them over, beckoning them to sit down and warm themselves too. He gave them a little food and offered to tell them a story so they could pass the time, the Traveler instantly nodding. The shepherd thought for a moment, before a deep wave of sadness seemed to pass over him. He sighed and nodded, preparing to tell the tale of ‘The abandoned portrait.’

‘Not too long ago, there lived a painter. He was born into a family of shoemakers and shepherds alike, and thus was considered the outcast of his family, preferring to draw rather than help around the house. One morning, the boy snuck off into the town square, hoping to find an interesting subject to capture as well as avoiding his duties as a trainee shepherd, and ended up finding himself in the presence of a beautiful girl, said to be the prettiest girl alive. The boy was in awe of her radiance and barely had the courage to approach her, but somehow managed to blurt out his name and a greeting, the girl being equally as shy. She didn’t understand why everyone seemed to stare at her, and at that moment, the boy realized that, much like butterflies, she was unable to see her own beauty. Likewise, the girl realized the boy was a painter, and admired his drawings of sparrows and ravens, but especially the portraits he did of people. The boy then came up with a brilliant idea, and over the coming weeks and months, painted her as best as he could. He wanted to show her just how beautiful she was, and tried to capture it in his art. But, he also realized he was falling in love with her, the two deciding to marry as they grew older. Still painting her portrait, the boy got a job as a shepherd to bring in some money, and modified the portrait each and every day to try and capture the beauty of his wife. Diligently, day and night, he worked, before one day, his wife became gravely ill. The man tried to care for her, seeking out the best doctors and making ends meet as best as he could, but there was no cure for her sickness. Later that same year, his wife died, and the man left the art unfinished. He gave up painting in his grief and devoted his time to the field, vowing never to paint again and leaving the portrait unfinished.’

The shepherd sniffled quietly, before looking at the Traveler. She had a curious face, underneath that hood, and it was obvious she understood the tale was anecdotal. She quietly nodded, finishing her documentation, before putting a hand out toward the fire. She felt cold, inside and out, just as she had that day. She stiffened up. No need to remember that now. The shepherd stared at her for a moment. She was a strange person, never fully revealing anything about herself. It intrigued him. Even her appearance was almost completely hidden, obscured by shadow. The man smiled slightly, and pulled out a pencil. Sarafelle gently drifted off, ending up leaning on the Traveler as she slept, whilst the Traveler’s eyes watched the flickering flames, entranced. They calmed her, at least for now. As the Traveler yawned slightly, the shepherd finished drawing, and passed her an image of herself, perfectly replicated on paper. A finally finished portrait. The Traveler slipped it into her book and nodded slightly, before drifting off to sleep.