ONE-HUNDRED-SIX: Epilogue

ONE-HUNDRED-SIX: Epilogue

I don’t think it fair to conclude the prodigal’s story, without a hint of further redemption.

The days that followed Arous’ homecoming, though not all together easy or without pain for all of us involved, were richer in a way that they hadn’t been before. Before I could make it to the Diofe’s Willing room in the morning, Arous had beat me to it. Every morning, she drank hot tea and smiled at him. I don’t think I ever walked in on them talking, but just sitting there enjoying one another’s company.  Without looking away from Arous, I’d hear the Diofe whisper a warm “Miguel” in my direction as if all his energy was focused on me.

After spending a short time basking in his presence, we’d go out on the porch: Arous, Octavius and I. Octavius would take up the whole swing, with Arous and I on the steps. As soon as Arcadia would hear Arous’ voice, she’d run to the porch to grab a slice of apple from Arous. Then Octavius and Arcadia would engage in a game of chase.

It went like this for the remainder of the spring and throughout the summer; our mornings meandered slow and easy awakening.

Every other day, Arous would sigh, “It’s so efficient here.”  I kept waiting for more but it never came, though there seemed to be a deep something we were both waiting on.

I thought we were waiting to start the drawing of the twelve, but as it turns out, that wasn’t quite it.

Spring had chased summer and now summer insisted leaving on a crisp morning at the beginning of fall. Arous spent the summer dancing about time and things and waited for a new autumn.

Octavius sat in the swing, his hundred-pound plus frame swayed in the swing with the breeze. Arcadia raced up from the north pasture. Octavius’ tale switched. Arcadia had trotted up the lane a bit, her ears forward and her back leg relaxing and tensing, relaxing and tensing. She spun around in a circle and trotted up the lane a bit further. Without warning Octavius leapt from the swing, over our heads and ran up and positioned himself in front of Arcadia.

“He’s always protecting her,” said Arous. “Wonder what has got them all worked up?”

I stood up to get a better look on things. The light woke the world now. Even being Aclarid, I had sensed nothing out of the ordinary.  Then I saw it.

“Arous, there is someone walking down the lane toward the house.”

Arous stood.

“I don’t see him.”

“He’s not in view yet. He’s a ten minute walk still. There is a lame horse behind him. A white one. Dazzling white but lame,” I paused and noticed the horse wasn’t the only one who was lame. “The man walks with a limp, too.”

“A limp? That doesn’t sound familiar. What does he look like, Miguel?”

I couldn’t describe him, though he seemed familiar.  All of his inner life was scrambled with his outer appearance for me. His head was down. All I could see was the one on his mind.  I looked over at her; she was staring at me as if there was something she hadn’t told me.

“Miguel?”

“Arous, he’s coming for you.”