Ashes

A tiny flame winks into life. The wood is young and green, so oil is applied. The fire runs across the pine, warming and crisping the bark. And heat is gently felt by the flame bringer. For a time the wood burns but only so long does the new log take to the flames. The oil runs low and a chill wind forces the little blaze to gutter... and fail.

And the wood has ashes, the ashes of its consumed bark float around it like a cry. No heat is felt and only the smoke of the flames could be seen, like a small wisp dissipating into space. And night falls on the world with no fire to meet it.

Wolves howl at first distantly, but drawing nearer. Yellow eyes spy the hiding place and they fear not a man with no fire. The only choice for them remained whether to eat quickly or slow. For their prey already caught could surely not escape.

Ashes still hung in the air, the wind yet whistled through the trees, and the wolves kept creeping up on the cave. Hopeless, depressed, the man stood to face his hunters. When the savage beasts approached the heatless pit another hunter cried a claim.

He came with fire, he came with oil, and he came prepared. Burning wolves and driving them off, the fire maker deftly defeated the canine fiends. He entered the dark cave to find the other man waiting for some sign of friendship. The hero took the unseasoned pine and put in its stead a large log of aged oak. And lighting it he also gave a torch and oil for the flames.

The relieved man took his torch and perceived the cave to be all around them and to stretch on for much farther than his light could reach. But the saving man showed him the endless wonders of the cave, for the ground was always dry and somehow wood was at hand whenever needed. No more to sit in ashes.

Dt