The warrior king walks into the woods. His fingers hold the lingering smell of savory meats and herbs, and his breath the scent of a beautiful woman’s surrender. Yet he feels alone. Discontent.
So he calls into the hollows. “Where are you my beloved? Where are you my queen, mother of stars?”
He hears nothing.
So he calls again. “Let me see your face my beloved. Give me a vision. Show me the dragon I must slay, or the labor I must endure to feel your embrace!”
He calls for the last time. “Please my beloved! My heart breaks for you. I have feasted, I have fucked, and I can never get my fill. I am desperate without you.”
He sits quietly down on the ground and puts his face in his hands. Dejected. Lost.
From nowhere and everywhere at once rises the faintest whisper. It comes from the earth and the clouds, the butterflies and the ants, the leaves, the flowers, the trees and the wind. Together all of creation softly sings, “I am here, my beloved. I am here, I am here, I am here.”
The warrior king raises his eyes, and sees his beloved for the first time. In the caress of the sun on his skin, the rushing water of a cool stream, the hug of his brother, the kiss of his lover, the smell of red wine and tobacco.
Tears of joy stream from his face and fall down upon the breast of his true love.