Tale 60- The Mystical Grotto

 Arriving in another small town, the Traveler heard the clanging of a blacksmith’s anvil, stopping to watch the man at work. He had a gentle face, despite his stature and build, and seemed cheerful and polite, smiling down at the young girl and motioning for her to come closer, allowing her to look at the object he was making. It was a silver horseshoe, perfectly curved and red hot to the touch, glowing bright orange as the man finished shaping it. With a smile, he picked it up with his tongs, steam hissing as he took it for cooling. The sound reminded the Traveler of how being touched used to feel, as if her skin was being burned by each fingertip, every curve of the tongue. She gave a slight shiver. He was still out there, so she had to stay vigilant. She would complete her goal, free herself from the iron shackles and live how she pleased. Perhaps she’d wander, or settle after so long of wandering. Regardless, she would be free. The blacksmith turned to her, before smiling slightly and offering to tell her a story, the girl gladly accepting and opening her book, ready to write the tale of ‘the Mystical Grotto’.

‘Long ago, there was a little boy who lived in a large home full of nooks and crannies. The home was said to have belonged to a magician years ago, one who created hidden rooms and infused the very walls with his magic. One fateful night, the little boy found a door in his wall, discovering it opened to an oceanic world beyond. There, he met dolphins, moon jellies and beyond, swimming deeper until he reached a glittering grotto of treasures. There were items the child couldn’t even dream of, diamonds, pearls, a chest he had found the key to and that was full of bountiful riches. Excited to show his family, he grabbed a fistful and swam out the opening, passing orcas and oceanic volcanoes which propelled him upwards, landing in his room while the moon was still high above. Holding his fistful of gems, he stared down at them in awe, but they had merely become bits and bobs, mere objects and no longer wonders beyond belief. The boy tried to reopen the door, but it was locked, and he went back to sleep in disappointment, hoping to someday return to the grotto if it ever reopened for him.’

The blacksmith finished cooling the horseshoe as the Traveler wrote, both hard workers engaging with their respective crafts. Upon finishing the transcription, the Traveler began to draw as the man began working on a new horseshoe, in a comfortable silence only punctuated by the clanging of the hammer. Both lived in lonesome trades, people came and went as they pleased, but there was a consistent reliance on work for both. With a respectful bow, the Traveler departed, the blacksmith waving her off.