Larisa
Publishing Manager, Stratics Leadership
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UNLEASHED
The old lady closed the door and wearily made her way over to the ancient rocking chair in the front the fire. As she dropped into the chair, she looked at the portrait hanging over the mantel and her eyes filled with tears of frustration and worry. So many nights spent waiting for some word, hoping for some sign. So many trips to the various towns seeking some word, some help. Rumors flew likes flocks of birds and unrest was evident in all corners of the land. At every turn she was ignored by the guards who were too busy attempting to keep order to listen to her pleas.
Her latest attempt at obtaining assistance had at least been met with a semblance of kindness. The guard had rebuffed her as they all had but at least he’d been gentle about it. “Old mother,” he said, not unkindly, “I know your heart aches with worry. But look around you. So many missing and hungry and hurt. We don’t have the resources to check every case. I’m truly sorry but there’s nothing we can do. Perhaps you can find a volunteer to help you. That’s all I can offer.”
Where on earth would she find a volunteer? Everyone was too busy worrying about themselves these days. Who would bother with the troubles of an old woman? Sighing deeply the old woman knew she had to try one last time. She’d heard rumors that those called to the hall in Britain would aid those in need. Perhaps, just this once, they’d help her. She simply had to know what had happened. It had been too long.
She pulled the small table close to her chair and adjusted the nub of a candle to shine some meager light on her work. With shaky fingers bent and gnarled from years of hard labor, she put pen to parchment in a last desperate attempt to gain some aid.
“I ask for your help in finding my granddaughter. I have no money to pay but she’s been missing for weeks and I’m deathly afraid of what has become of her. I’m begging for any aid you can offer.
Please meet me at the building in Britain known as the counselor’s hall on Tuesday, the 29th of May, at 6:00 p.m. by the Pacific moon if you can help me.”
Signed,
Mother Mabel
Her latest attempt at obtaining assistance had at least been met with a semblance of kindness. The guard had rebuffed her as they all had but at least he’d been gentle about it. “Old mother,” he said, not unkindly, “I know your heart aches with worry. But look around you. So many missing and hungry and hurt. We don’t have the resources to check every case. I’m truly sorry but there’s nothing we can do. Perhaps you can find a volunteer to help you. That’s all I can offer.”
Where on earth would she find a volunteer? Everyone was too busy worrying about themselves these days. Who would bother with the troubles of an old woman? Sighing deeply the old woman knew she had to try one last time. She’d heard rumors that those called to the hall in Britain would aid those in need. Perhaps, just this once, they’d help her. She simply had to know what had happened. It had been too long.
She pulled the small table close to her chair and adjusted the nub of a candle to shine some meager light on her work. With shaky fingers bent and gnarled from years of hard labor, she put pen to parchment in a last desperate attempt to gain some aid.
“I ask for your help in finding my granddaughter. I have no money to pay but she’s been missing for weeks and I’m deathly afraid of what has become of her. I’m begging for any aid you can offer.
Please meet me at the building in Britain known as the counselor’s hall on Tuesday, the 29th of May, at 6:00 p.m. by the Pacific moon if you can help me.”
Signed,
Mother Mabel