Wandering Spark - Part 37
He came to the cave with the serpenters, when the sun was already coming down. The day before he hadn’t succeeded in obtaining the clear answer from the master - whether his services were needed or not. For the time spent in prison, no one was going to pay him, it's clear. But to earn at least a few krowns on the last visitors – will they allow him this?
He came resolute and angry. The host, on the contrary, greeted him cordially:
"Do not sulk, my friend, there will be work for you, right tomorrow. Our Nila with the rich Gorni now is on a trip. The guy is not local, he pays well," the master for some reason winked - even more, "I'll tell you what is good, our snake-beauty doesn’t cost so much... And Nila has noticed that he is pleasant. So why not? The whole day they are on the route, I didn’t take any other orders for today. They won’t return soon... There are a couple of hours before sunset... So tomorrow Nila will have a day off, I think."
Varan said goodbye, promising to come tomorrow at dawn. And he went away.
Along the road grow leafthorn - plants are ordinary and at the same time venerable, awarded images on the round-necked princely coat of arms. In the off-season, they resembled black fish skeletons that grew into the ground, but in the season they fired in all directions with huge leaves and pale violet flowers without a smell. The flower of the thorn was the size of a good hat and, if broken, did not fade for three days. Of the leaves were built tents, but mostly - the fence around someone's possessions, because the leaves, justifying the name, were covered with thorns and hooks, capable of injuring to the blood.
Now, at the end of the season, the flowers of the thorn were replaced by fruits - heavy balls with sticking out in different directions needles.
The thorny fruit hanging over the road touched Varan on the top of the head. Hardly without leaving a scratch.
Varan shuddered.
Spreading the thorny leaves with his bare hands, he saw the trunk - the "fish ridge" and the branches, deceptively thin.
Took care of the one that hung over the road. I jerked with all my strength. The branch cracked, but it did not break.
Varan tore and tore, and broke a branch, not paying attention to the thorny leaves that beat his shoulders, the fact that a thread of blood ripped from a scratched ear. The thorn was an exceptionally strong plant - he had grown on stones and fought for life from the very birth of the seed. Varan was hitting, like a storm, mercilessly and blindly, and in the end broke the branch. The leaves rustled, falling to the ground. Deafly knocked on the road fruit.
Varan stood and looked at his scratched hands.
Nila can even lead the entire Round Fang into that cave where there is dry grass and a book with blurry pages... Today she led a rich Gorni there. Who she led there when Varan was in the Prison Gut? There are so many of them, rich, generous; someone, can and will be honored for an expensive gift, a necklace... For a gift that can be worn without hiding. Which the guards won’t take away, won’t be accused of fraud or theft...
She will say: I didn’t ask you for anything. No gifts. Don’t think that I'm to blame for something, that you're in trouble because of me. You suffered because of your own stupidity and arrogance... You're a pod, and I'm half Gorni. Know your place…
Blood from the scratched ear flooded the collar of a thin cotton shirt, by the way expensive one, his mother bought it for him, because his son returned... Varan found himself walking back. Slowly, stumbling, but to the sea, to the caves.
He unfolded himself as a wheelbarrow. Home, he ordered himself. Mom is waiting, and father too.
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