The warrior stumbled into the forest, and looked around. It was quiet. Very quiet. He frowned, scanning the clearing for any movement or signs of danger.
There were poplar and aspen trees laden with leaves, and a bed of trilliums growing beneath him. Birdsong echoed through the air.
It was just a forest. There was no danger here. Finally, the warrior had a moment of peace. Some respite from the battle. He took a step forward, walking deeper into the woods.
The early morning sunlight flitted through the leaves overhead. He had been running all night. Running from the battle, from the raging war outside. In some ways, he felt like he had been running his whole life. Always looking over his shoulder, always thinking about a way out. Always trying to survive.
He stepped deeper into the woods. He could hear no other voices. It was quiet here. He felt…alone. The sunlight hit the trees at an angle, making them almost look like they were glowing. A butterfly danced across his vision. It was beautiful.
As the warrior walked deeper into the forest, he recalled the sounds of clanging swords, burning houses, and shouting voices. But here in the woods, he heard none of those things. Birds chirped softly above him, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves, and a babbling brook could be heard in the distance.
The trees parted, and a stream came into view. It glistened in the sunlight, winding its way through the forest. Little white flowers lined the water’s edge. It was so clear. So clean.
The warrior knelt down to wash his bloodstained hands in the stream, and the water flowed red for a moment. He remembered the battle, the captains rallying the troops, the enemy ambushing them from behind. He remembered the fear he felt as they were routed from their position, forced to flee.
His hands washed clean as the warrior remembered his companions. His friends. Shot in the back, cut down beside him. So many lives, gone. And for what? How had he survived, while they had not? None of it made any sense.
The warrior shook his head, his body shaking now in agony. What was it all for?
He looked at his reflection in the water, seeing his face lined with pain and horror. The warrior began to weep, recalling all he had been through in his life. The years of battle which had robbed him of his innocence and youth. He couldn’t bear to look at his reflection, so he washed his face in the stream, his tears mixing with the clear water. The battle was over now, but it still reverberated in his body, in his soul.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The clean air filled his lungs, and as he exhaled, he released some part of his pain. He was still here. He was still alive.
The warrior opened his eyes and looked across the stream. The sun shone down on a great oak tree with moss growing up the trunk. It looked so soft and welcoming, so he rose to his feet, crossed the stream, and sat against the tree. He looked up as the birds sang in the leaves overhead. The sun on his face was so warm, and this forest was so beautiful.
And in that moment, for the first time in years, the warrior felt something unexpected.
Peace.