The horse

He was leaving. No matter how many times they told him to stay, he was getting dressed, he filled the bag with the essentials, he saddled the horse and left. He couldn't rest if he didn't turn back, to see that everything was in place, to feed the living and then leave again for a new mission. Winter was slowly closing its teeth and night was falling early. Sometimes the darkness was such that it made you dizzy. The perspective was lost from the eye and it seemed that you were not moving at all. Martyrdom!

The animal's age had jumped in recent times, as if he were in a hurry to grow old. He galloped rhythmically, thoughtfully, without nerve. On it it felt like swimming in a calm lake. They were tied, especially after the big one, uncertain period they struggled side by side to defeat death. That empty look of the horse never leaves his mind, after the big attack. How could he imagine that they would hit horses;

The gusts fell incessantly, like child's play. The one,what they found they destroyed. He thought that by opening the stable doors, they would have more hope of escaping, to be saved. They frantically started running in every direction , without orientation, no hope. Instinct drove it all out, in the thick darkness. The fear was present. He couldn't understand, he was also in a hurry and a nuisance, like burning, she was pressing him to act quickly. He doesn't remember how many times he went back and forth to make sure. Mute, without a single voice being heard, no lifting, not even a breath, was running , unbolted and opened.

The dog was barking, the attack was like lightning that has no sound - while you know it will come with a delay- but he was not coming. The grace, the burning in the shoulder became a sharp pain . He understood. He should tie it. He found some rough rags and tied up the wound. Just as he was distinguishing some volumes new to the landscape. He didn't have time. He began to pass over these dark ones,  like stone, immobile trunks.   He counted them, thirty-two horses . And the dog. And his silence.

They stayed a week, ten days, bathed in the dark abyss. Without distinguishing day from night, without understanding whether they are sleeping or living. They survived side by side, one thanks to the other. The wound on the animal's neck was deep and did not close easily. He did what he knew to take care of it, the monk who lived, all he had left. It took some time for others to reach the top, the snows were deceiving. They both survived. As if they agreed that this will be done and nothing else. They had to rise together, to stand up again.

He remembered everything, like every night when they make the return journey together. He did not know, but he believed that he too was thinking the same thing on the way back. The memory is original, never repeats itself. That's why every time he let the memory take him and lead him, with confidence and anticipation.

When his parents left he was still a child. They set out to check the route and find a safe haven. They told him that they would come back and take him with all the living things in a week. They shouldn't have given a target. They would travel by night. The paths had to be safe. Wait. It's been a long time, months...he was forgotten....

He cried alone at night, but all the rest of the day he thought of nothing but the care of the stable, the feeding, the watering, the milking. When someone came to get milk or something else, he felt the gaze on him strange, lost. He didn't get an answer because he didn't ask anything. No one had news because no one asked. He learned to live without questions.

He made his own cheese and yogurt. He remembered his mother dealing with them. Together with his sister they were milking, they boiled the milk and the mother did the rest. Whenever he milked the live ones, he was thinking that he would be very happy if he could take her chanaka without spilling. Even now he was thinking about it , after such a long time. She had been saying the word mother for over twelve years.

She made the decision to run away with his sister first - the girls were more at risk. The father and his older brother prepared the cart. Few, only the essentials, to be light. The animals were not to be tired and the peaks had begun to lay down enough snow. They left him with only the horses and smaller animals until they found a temporary one, safer place. The attacks were increasing and everyone was saying that they should move further west.

He remained lonely and full of anticipation for many years. He learned to measure time, the years, to read the stars in the sky, to help the living when they lost their way and when it was their time to give birth . He learned to spur them out when their life was running out. She understood her circle. Hermit and expert in,what an animal needed, he became known in the surrounding areas and was called to help. When some difficult birth, sometimes some persistent fatality that stalked them. He was called everywhere with handsome fees for his help.

It had never reached Kefalohori. Ask whose sick jokes are , they showed him the big stable on the side of the road. Opposite the two-story house of the boss. He rapped on the door and a woman with a veiled face quickly came down. He took him to the stable, he opened it and brought him an oil lamp. She rushed in and out to bring him everything,what was needed. He could feel her behind him all the time he was struggling to save everything,what could. An entire herd was doomed to perish. The fever was killing them.

He stayed two full days and nights , without stopping for a moment. With a pitcher of water, a carafe of wine and two plates that were cooling untouched by the door, wait to see the development. On the second day she also brought him a melon, cool, all fragrance. He placed it on the table and left a knife with it. The knife reminded him of something, a very old dream. It had a wooden handle, like a feather, carver. It was his father's creation, he used to make such handles , sometimes like wings , sometimes like fish. His father was a craftsman and artist.

A shiver ran through him from head to toe. The woman seemed to sense it, approached him and spoke to him in another language. He didn't answer her. When it finished , helped to disinfect the area, gathered his gear, he took his pay and a basket of food and set out.

The thick darkness made it very difficult to move and the horse was going slower and slower. They were almost there and he felt a hesitation in his breath. A dubious thought, a hunch, it troubled him and he decided to rest the animal. He reached down and stroked it on the long neck, as only he did. He turned his head and then felt a string hanging high from the ship. On the cord passed his amulet, i.e. not his, but similar to this. Father had made them, two identical amulets for twins. He always wore his on him. The other hung on his horse these two days by her hands, of his only sister.

Grow up, who knows how, lived and sent him with their horse the sign. Only he could recognize it.

He and the horse, which was panting so much that he didn't want to tire it anymore. He found a clean and sheltered place. He helped it lie down, sat down next to him and took his head in her arms. With her palm she stroked his neck quietly and redeemingly. It was relieving this passage of the palm over his neck.

And if night comes, don't hide,

Count the stars

Don't let the sky scare you,

And the earth will become a guide

Your way to open...

He remembered his mother's lullaby, he remembered their companionship when they were children playing with the young colt. He lived it or dreamed it all; He didn't realize when the sun came out and turned the horizon pink. He had recovered after the past two days. He had understood that he was gone… He breathed his last there, in his arms. The thrill of the unexpected meeting shook him so much, which his heart could not bear.

Because memory is an unexpected force- in her own way she leads you and suddenly leaves you. Whenever she wants.