Scribble #1
by Raven Eades
August 10, 2004

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

I half turned my head as the Guide joined me as I looked at the view below.

It truly was beautiful. We had managed to climb a small summit on the side of the mountain and could see most of the landscape below. There was the winding trail of the river that looked sluggish from above even though I had experienced first hand the rapid currents that nearly dragged me under. Encroaching the river's space was the dense forest of thick, dark leaves that I swore I could see growing in the midday light. Every once in a while the wind brushed past and tousled my hair and with it came the smell of earth and a fainter smell of water.

All of that to say, I was a little engrossed to answer my companion. I don't quite remember how I responded - maybe a nod or a grunt of acknowledgment, but I know that he heard. He was so good that way - being quiet that is, when I didn't really want to talk. To be honest, I'm still surprised at times with how well he knows my patterns and my moods - enough to break in and help me when I want him to stay out. If he hadn't... well, it's best not to dwell on darker things past.

We just stood a while, staring at the landscape, these thoughts flowing through my head while other thoughts drifted through his. Eventually my eyes grew tired of the scene and turned inward instead. Whether I wanted to or not, I began to think of the last fortnight and the events in it. Well, maybe events isn't the right word. Reactions, perhaps or even moods. Yes... moods.

The last few weeks had been darker ones. Being enlisted to the King's army hardly ensures your protection (though being a soldier in any war comes married with risks), but in this war, you can't let your guard down; the enemies have invaded far more of the land than I thought possible and even the small village taverns have their own dangers. I suppose that's how I met mine: in something small and unexpected. I can't quite place it now; it feels like a hazy dream... I know it was nothing more than a skip in the path, a slight alteration to the way I had been traveling before when I suddenly spiraled out of control.

There were things I saw during that journey - down that path where I wandered from the direction of my Guide - that I never wish to see again. I realize being a soldier, one can hardly choose the dangers to face, I just don't want to face them alone. That's how I fell - I thought I was strong enough on my own.

Now, I know very well I'm being cryptic and talking in vague circles of conversation, but to be honest, there is little I can remember of the journey itself. I just remember starting off with an arrogant strut to my walk, the sun shining deeply with suspicion that I failed to notice. It was not long before the day darkened and my walk became more burdened - something I still did not notice (such is the clever device of the enemy). Finally I was crawling in the mire and left on the roadside taverns - the filthy ones that I shuddered to pass - and I drank myself into oblivion every night. I still had my crest of arms and my standard that bore the mark of the king - I only hope that... well, I shan't dwell on that because to wallow in the past doesn't help much, does it?

By the time my money was gone and I had bartered away many things I could and couldn't afford to lose, my Guide had had enough. He is sworn to me by oath, and he cannot and will not leave me - even in my worse moments. But now was the breaking point where he would interfere whether I wanted him to or not. Before I had passed my second round at the bar, he dragged me outside. Being out of doors sobered me up wonderfully - I had not gone past the tavern walls for many days (somehow when one gets to the point where one is simply spiraling down, it is easier to make a cage than to try and fight for something better).

He didn't say anything, the Counselor, that is. Rather, he didn't say much. He just looked me in the eye and said, "You realize that I still love you. I know where you are, I've seen where you've been, and I've witnessed what you've done, but I love you still. I just want you to come back, but that is up to you."

And despite that, I didn't straighten up right away. There was another cycle after that, a breaking cycle to a former pattern. It now became having my drinks and my nights of shame in the tavern before repenting in the morning and endeavoring to leave and again resume my journey. I couldn't manage it for the longest time because I was always drawn back for some small reason or another. It's a miracle really that I'm even partway up the mountain because so much of me still screams to go back. I think addiction is something that sweetly poisons you even while it stares you in the face. You become so entranced by its hideous beauty that by the time you manage to look away, its talons are latched to your body and every move reminds you of its grip. It's far easier to just lie still and do as it dictates. What comes harder is the amputation of this unnatural parasite unless you want to live the life of a docile, unwilling slave.

I guess I had been rubbing the bandage around my neck as I thought because I heard the Counselor chuckle. I turned again to meet his gaze and could only manage a half smile to his vibrant green eyes. He has the most extraordinary eyes; they remind me a lot of the forests I've traveled, full of life and peril. I have seen my Guide when he is teaching me and also when he is defending and there is a dangerous glint to both that makes me feel both safe and sharpened - like all of my unuseful qualities are worn away in his presence so that I am honed to what I need to be.

And I wish I could say I felt a rough grating then as he looked at me, because pain would have been easier to handle than an incomprehensible glance. I'm still very angry, though I can't say at what. It's almost a relief at times to feel the burn of my wounds because (excuse an old cliche), it gives a sensation of being alive when everything else about you feels numb. I know part of recovering from this pattern is boredom, a sort of dullness about what used to raise your blood and make you sing aloud for joy. But all of it seems gray, like the color of life was taken while I slept in unnatural dreams.

Sometimes I wonder if I can be an equally good soldier in long marches as well as battle. Right now I'm just journeying on toward another skirmish and I've held up very badly in the transition. I just wish the past could be erased and not repeated as I fear it's going to be. Or that I at least could believe again that I even want to keep going through the battles toward the city I am sworn to... that I want to go for pure longing.