55. The way home

He was old, the oldest of his tribe. He was the last who remembered the darkness that ate the sun, and the Horse-men who went to fight it. He was there when the council was held about it, and spoke for helping them, even if it meant revealing the secret paths. His son died during the last winter when there was a snowstorm with thunder and snowdrifts as high as a grown man, and not his grandson was the chieftain of the wild men.

Ghân-buri-Ghân was old, but he was wise. He could not hunt anymore, nor catch the fishes of the swift woodland streams, and his eyes did not see clearly, but he was a great listener. He understood the whispers of the trees and rain, he knew the paths of the animals and all springs and wells with good water, hidden in the woods, he could feel in the air how the weather will turn that year, how hot the summer will be and how much they should hunt to survive the winter.

In the same way as he could feel the rain in the air, he knew that his death is nearing. He lay under a great chestnut that day. It was an ancient tree, and its trunk was hollow and bark rough, but there was still life in its branches, and its leaves were green. The old leaves from previous year lay on the ground, crumpling and papery, soon to wither and turned into soil that will give life to new plants. That was the cycle of life, and he knew he has to follow it. The smell of the forest was all around him - the decaying wood, the wet moss. He breathed in deeply.

That breath was his last.

He saw his body lying beyond the tree, but it did belong to him anymore. He was glad. It was a good body, but it has reached its limits. It should be returned to the earth now. He sang to himself as he headed west, and ancient, wordless melody of his ancestors. He knew he will meet someone on the way – the wind has told him – and so he was looking around.

He smiled slightly when he found who he was looking for. It was the chieftain of the stone-men standing there, looking a little lost.

"Lost path?" he asked friendly as he approached.

The tall man looked up with surprise, as if he wouldn't expect seeing anyone here. He bowed his head, recognizing the wisdom of the one who stood before him. "I can see the path to the west… but I'm not prepared to follow it. There are many waiting for me here…"

Ghân-buri-Ghân just shook his head in understanding. "Would rather return to the stone-city, would you not?"

The man just nodded.

At that, Ghân-buri-Ghân smiled, and took down one leaf from the green crown he was wearing on his head. "Eat," he said simply.

The man looked at him without understanding.

"Eat..." Ghân-buri-Ghân repeated, mimicking the movement in case the man did not understand.

"Why…?"

"Poison," Ghân-buri-Ghân pointed his finger at the men chest. Then he pointed at the leaf. "Antidote."

The man's eyes widened. "How did you know?..."

"Wind told Ghân-buri-Ghân…" the wild man shrugged, as if nothing on the world would be clearer. "But now he has to go. The west calls. Have good path, and good hunting for family." He turned to go.

Aragorn looked after him for some time. "Have a good path as well, Ghân-buri-Ghân!" he called after him, and then finally ate the leaf. In the very moment he felt easier, and could feel the pull, calling him back to his body. A heartbeat…

He smiled and followed it, thinking that with a bit of luck, Arwen will never find out about this…