Axiom ~ 4!

~ Four ~

The children didn’t know where the sudden cold shiver running down their spines came from; given they were all plenty warm under the sun. Aside from the momentary discomfort, they gave it no thought as they gathered up fallen fruit into woven baskets like they were supposed to do. There were more than apples in the orchard, but some trees bore fruit they simply did not know the name for. Today, the group was in a hurry. 

If they didn’t bring something home by the time their parents came back from the flats, there would be scolding. On top of that, they only had time to gather until the Elder arrived. This signaled story and playtime, and they prepared oh-so-many more questions. 

Trudging along his way to the orchard after having done the usual daily tasks that kept one healthy and clean, the Elder spotted one of his sproutlings sitting alone by a tree. The otherwise cheerful boy poked at fallen fruit with a stick, clearly disheartened. Detouring hastily, the Elder said nothing on his approach. Rather, the weary grandfather noisily grunted and sat down next to the depressed, grim child. This glum behavior was recently common for the boy; whom no longer had direct remaining family or parents. 

He didn’t like his life with the family that took him in, as they only had eyes for their own offspring and were particularly strict on him even as their doting was directed elsewhere. The sproutling muttered a half-hearted greeting. Replying with action, the community-minded Elder wrapped his arm around the child’s head, pulling the lad into his robed side for a hug. Warm and supportive, the Elder brushed the flat of his hand across the top of the unhappy boy’s head. 

He didn’t need to ask if the sproutling was feeling lonely; that was clear to see from the sullen expression and stick-prodding that didn’t have a shred of effort put into it. The boy wasn’t his actual son, but that didn’t matter to the Elder as he kicked up happy memories to distract the boy. 

“Did you know that your father had a favorite stick?” The Elder warmly chimed, keeping the sproutling held comfortingly. A wordless nodding was the only reply. 

“He would swing it every day, loud and boisterous. Saying he’d be the best at it while bouncing about the apiary. Your mother would scold him, because he swung so recklessly and wildly that he frequently struck something without thinking. It made a few people quite upset, and one day, to no one's surprise, he hit a beehive.”

The Elder mimicked the sound of a great number of angry bees, followed by the croaked, pitched squeal of two young people bolting. “Oh, the bees were mad! Your parents both ran screaming down the hill with a whole swarm chasing them. Api, the apiary keeper at the time, was booming profanities at them as they tumbled.” 

“Do you remember how they avoided the swarm?” Another nod was felt in the side of the ribs. The mumbled reply was something along the lines of ‘hid under the water.’ The Elder approved, as that was correct. “Indeed, they had to share a reed to breathe, and were so embarrassed about the whole thing they didn’t speak in public for many moons. Until, of course, we started catching them together in the… ow!”

The child had soft-punched him in the ribs, face red and embarrassed. This little one wasn’t any good talking about affection and wholeheartedly rejected it, though it made him hurt to do so. 

“Hmm. Why don’t I let you go then?” The Elder responded, following with a side eyed ‘Hmmm?’ only to find the grip on his robe to be significantly tightened. The little red face didn’t want to be seen crying. 

“I don’t have a home.” The boy miserably admitted, only to push his face painfully into the old man’s freshly punched ribs. A soft sigh and a reassuring set of pats to the child’s back accompanied soft words. 

“Grandson, you will always have a home wherever I am.” He remained quiet as the young one hiccupped little sobs, but the Elder supportively held the boy regardless. Not speaking, not judging, just being there for a mind that was experiencing grief and loss. The Elder knew those tears well, and did not question nor tell the child to stop. 

He watched the sparse clouds and the occasional wayward bird. As usual, he lost himself in thought faster than anything; he began to wonder why the sky sometimes changed color. At least, he would have, had the sproutling not stirred and sat up to wipe his red, puffy face with the length of the Elder’s robe sleeve. “I will?” 

With warmth the Elder soothed, “Always. When you can't handle it anymore, all seems lost, and everything felt like it has utterly fallen apart. Even if everyone rejects you, nobody wants you, and the world feels like it wants to crush you on all sides. I’ll be on my little hill, waiting for you to come home. It won’t matter to me what you’ve done, what anyone says about you, or even whatever darkness holds you tight on the inside.” 

He then softly poked the child’s nose with the soft love of a grandfather. “You can smash your face into my ribs and cry anytime. I will hide your face so nobody sees-” 

A punch in the arm made the Elder jump. 

“Oww.” He bent comically forwards and held his arm, deeply exaggerated since the actual impact didn’t do much of anything. “Why so hard? You’ve left a bruise!” 

The Elder pouted with overdone expression. His sniffling sproutling smiled a weak, triumphant ‘serves you right’ and wiped his face using the Elder’s sleeves. Satisfied that his little one felt a little better, the Elder scowled and stood up with an *oooof*; still pretending to rub a devastatingly injured upper arm. 

“Awfully strong for such a little thing,” he muttered dejectedly, with full intention of having the sproutling hear it. Which of course just grew the smile on the boy’s face. Opening and closing his hand a few times, he reached his open palm towards the boy. “Come now. Let’s go see everyone. You’re part of the family and you’re important to it. Take part in the stories with everyone else.” 

The boy took the Elder’s hand and walked with the surrogate grandfather as he trotted off, giving a silent, strong nod. It felt good to be included in the family.

The sprawling orchard was a chaotic food fight by the time the Elder arrived. A laughing chorus of splats signaled an important task was forgotten until one of the children let free a sudden, sharp, and throaty panic-inhale as their feet skittered to a halt. The old man had his eyes closed, and that was fine. There was, he guessed, a juicy peach stuck on his face. The half-crushed delicacy slowly dribbled down his freshly washed cheek, beard, and robe. 

This was fine. His robe was undoubtedly stained. That too was fine.

With deliberate motion and breath, his head tilted while he kept a hold of the young lad that had been crying earlier. His free hand slowly peeled the fruit from his forehead with a wet *squelch*. He said nothing at first. 

The Elder just squinted through the sap as children remained frozen in place. He looked down, and the concerned puffy red-faced child locked his gaze. He was confused as the Elder reached down to hand him the half-smashed fruit. However, the Elder made the imperative quite clear as his commanding voice rumbled. “Get ‘em.”

The fruit was taken gleefully. His youngster let out a war cry and did exactly so, storming off to resume the paused engagement. The Elder found himself alone, no longer hand-holding as the sproutling ran off and launched the half-smashed fruit with the full force of his strength. While missing the intended target, the peach became a fully smashed fruit as it spun wildly out of control and splatter-squished into the oldest girl’s nose, who was promptly knocked to her butt as she slipped and lost her footing. 

A gaggle of children ready to make a glorious mess of things made the area ring out. The war of fallen fruit was on. The Elder wiped his face clean with the bottom of his Gi; unknowingly avoiding being struck by an overhead projectile while bent to wipe his beard off. A few deft steps later, he was tactically positioned behind a sizable tree. Entertaining as this was, he didn’t have the energy for it. 

He could already feel the tremble return to his hands, and if it hadn’t been for the warm sun, the aged soul would be feeling quite chilly. So, the Elder sat, thinking of taking a rest while the pinprick shocks took their daily toll. The ruckus died down a little later when a sproutling came around the bend and spotted the grandfather’s unmoving form. Sounding an alert, the sproutlings dropped their respective fruits and ended play as one of them loudly began trying to rouse their caretaker. 

“Elder?” 

Multiple children nudged his shoulder while the oldest girl spoke. “Elder!”

Blinking as he woke, he raised his head to see the faces of worried children. When had he fallen asleep? He could not recall. “Hmm? Yes? Is it story time?” 

He made a show of yawning and putting his hand in front of his face, but it was a facade. To his luck, not one the children picked up on his obfuscation as the important word shifted their expressions–their worry turned right around and into enthusiasm. 

“Storytime! I pick this time!” Yelled the oldest girl, getting the ball rolling. She had noticed something was wrong with their pale Elder, but didn’t want the group to dwell on it. Her robe was a mess of fruity colors and sweetened smells that matched her cashew hair and striking emerald eyes, the clear dominant trait for this generation of sproutlings. 

“No, I’m the biggest! I pick today!” Snapped out the oldest boy, equally covered in a mixture of pinks, browns, and greens. The Elder could feel the communal scowls suddenly levered at the oldest, and the commentary was scathing.

“Oh, like you got to pick the best cup, and the best robe, and it had to be your pail? You picked enough today!” The Elder’s hand rose before another fight broke out as the kids spoke over one another, his voice sinking back to the usual landscape of steadfast patience. 

“What’s all this about cups. Did you not bring them?” The children looked around as their conversation was shut down, so the Elder moved it along. “Well, won’t you fetch them?” 

The youngest shot a sharp, challenging glance at the oldest and ran off. “BestCupIsMine!” 

The rest of the horde followed him in a hurry. “No, it’s not!” 

When the tiny horde returned, they found the Elder doing some elaborate stretches. They watched him while holding a cup each, not interrupting. The eldest held two cups. Clearly, his strength had won out as the additional mud-marks on several robes were tell-tale of a scuffle. “I see you have two cups sproutling. How did that happen?” 

The Elder rose and observed the cup-holders, gaze resting on the oldest as he calmly questioned. The oldest, of course, beamed with pride. “I’m the strongest! They couldn’t get them out of my hands. So obviously I was going to win and get what I want!” 

The Elder nodded in understanding. “Ah, I see. Might makes right, is it?” 

The youngster’s nod altered direction to a solemn no as the unpleasant memory of Elder Switch came to mind. A stoic, disappointed look developed on the Elder’s wrinkled face as hands laced behind his back. Deep worry crossed the oldest boy’s visage, the Elder eroding what the prideful youngster thought had been certain success. He held firm to his two uncertain prizes as the Elder’s lesson began. “So, does being stronger, and being able to make others do what you want, make it the right thing to do?”

The sentence from the old man was clearly aimed at the holder of both cups, and the boy stammered out a guessed answer. “…yes?” 

A sigh with some depth left the Elder as he hung his head for a moment, and his wrist turned to motion for a circle. They all sat, and the lesson began. “The answer was no. Let’s show you why.” 

He took one of the cups and placed it in the center. “Say we had one cup. Just one. This is the only vessel that can hold water for everyone to drink. Is it right to fight over the cup, so only you have the water? Or is it right to share the cup, and work towards filling it as often as possible so everyone has enough?”

He held up his hand, for now not wanting an answer. “People will fight over the empty cup because that’s what people do. They get scared that there’s only one cup. They fear that if someone else owns the cup, they won’t get any water. That is, of course, easy to understand. If there was only one toy, you’d all want it.” 

A round of nodding went about the circle. “So, say you fight for the cup. The strongest is likely to win, yet by winning you have gained something far more dangerous. Something you don’t want.” 

A circle of frowning faces now hung to his words. “You’ve gained the cup, but you’ve also gained everyone’s animosity.” 

He paused at the look of confused expressions. “Their feelings of anger, want, and judgment. That which you feel for someone you’re unhappy with, before you think about why. Hostile intent.” 

The scrunched faces faded as they learned the new words. “In fighting for the cup, you haven’t filled the cup. The cup may even have been damaged and now be less able to hold water. Most of all, you have not filled the cup and now only you can do so. Because you have the cup, it means everyone who cannot drink from it now goes thirsty, because of you.” 

The oldest was in distress thanks to this sentence and put down both of the cups like they were hot coals. He didn’t want that on his conscience. Everyone else followed suit, but mostly because they didn’t know what to do. “When you took the cup, you did not gain the cup, so much as you have denied it from everyone else. Now, which is the cup you were all fighting over?” 

They all pointed at the smoothest, most well-made cup. The Elder understood and nodded. “Which is the least desirable cup?” 

That took a little longer, but eventually, the children settled on a wreck of a cup. Not surprisingly, the youngest had been holding it. The Elder took a cup from the middle and held it out to the youngest. “Swap these.” 

The youngest handed over his bad cup and was rather pleased about a higher quality cup being close at hand. The Elder then held up the worst of the vessels, “This is my cup.” 

“Why do you want the worst cup?” The oldest girl was baffled. Her voice reflected the silent question of the group. 

“An excellent question, always a sharp mind on you.” With the Elder giving her a compliment, her mood brightened and her face lit up. “Not only will nobody want to take this cup from me, but I can fill it as often as I need! Now, it’s no good for me to have an empty cup, and that’s the point. Filling the cup is what gives it meaning.”

Grasping the intent, the oldest girl’s eyes went wide; she’d gotten it! The rest of her family was still catching up. Noticing her reaction, a pleased Elder looked to the oldest girl and smiled. “Your thoughts?” 

All eyes fell on her as the conversation was shifted.

“Ah, well. Ermm… Ueh.” Her eyes darted to the Elder who was patiently sitting there, letting her take all the time she wanted. “So, if... if we fight over the cup, then we might be able to show which one of us is the strongest. But that doesn’t mean we’ve understood what the cup is for or how to best use it. We’ve just shown who is gonna get the cup if it came down to us all wanting it.”

“If only the strongest one uses the cup, then it’s not the best for everyone. He got the cup because he was only paying attention to himself, not what everyone else needed. But the cup can’t be used unless it’s full. It took a few of us earlier today just to draw water up from the well, so filling the cup isn’t very easy. Who has the cup isn’t as important as if the cup is full. It has meaning because all of us can now benefit from it?” She was rambling near the end, and the certainty of her words fell away like a landslide. 

With hope in her eyes, she drilled her gaze into the Elder, who reached into his sleeve and pulled out the leaf from earlier, placing it on her head. “I award you one leaf of smartness.” 

Her hopeful glint turned to a glum glare, but the child that had given the leaf-hat before was a bundle of smiles; just happy to see that same leaf reused for something. The child who had spoken could say nothing when she saw the happy little face, so just wore the abyss-dratted leaf-hat. 

The Elder then picked up a small stone and carved ‘Elder’ into the poor-quality cup. The children ogled the craft as they could not yet write. He turned it around and showed them the result. “This is my cup. My name’s on it. However, it’s an empty cup. I can leave it out in the open and it will be fine, since nobody wants it!” 

He placed it down and got an unexpected number of frowns in return. The Elder, not quite following the reaction, meekly mumbled a “…what?”

The oldest boy broke the awkward silence. “I would want it.”

A few eyes rolled and the oldest girl began to snap at him. “Well, of course you would, you always want...” 

“No, no. Not because I’m the strongest.” He was fidgeting and waving his hands to rebuke her words. “If… if I had this cup, now I would wonder what makes it full.” 

The oldest was visibly becoming more uncomfortable, his presence shrinking. “I feel full after I’ve eaten, laughed a lot, and when I go home after a day where we get to play like this. Where we get to… talk like this…” 

The Elder perked up as concern struck him. Oh, he was an old fool!