2025-12-05 Freewrite

The man from the far tracks had started a fire. It glowed and danced in an old oil drum. His eyes were locked on the tips of the wisps, the shimmering reflected against his black irises. But his seriousness fell away when he saw the boy again. The corners of his eyes rose and constructed for him a new face.

“The perilous one,” he announced and gave the bow of a court jester, hands flourishing. “Rest a spell.”

The man pulled out a bone-colored handkerchief and lightly swiped at the top of a log. The boy sat but did not look directly at the man and instead stared at the crumbling mountains black against the blue night sky.

“I would offer some dinner,” the man said showing his palms. The boy nodded. The man began to ask more of the boy but gathered it would be too sad a story and thought it impious to impose such memories on one so young.

The man sat opposite him. He too stared into the fire for some time.