Microcuento 3: The Warrior

Children sought to emulate him. He was their warrior. He was their hero. Fathers fashioned wooden swords for the children to play with, each boy claiming to be the true double of the hero. They would be silent when he walked down the street with his long strides and fur coat.

“Legend held,” the Old Woman, Tallah, said as she prepared figs and honey for the children who occasionally visited her to hear the plethora of stories she held in store for them, “That the warrior ventured out in search of his amulet—an amulet of mysterious and magical powers…”

Tallah continued to woo the children’s imaginations with tales woven together from the threads of history and fiction. Their wide eyes fell captive to the old woman’s voice, which, with every croak, whisked them away into the past…


               They huddled at the window of the village’s tavern and looked inside. Every evening the warrior would walk into the tavern and huddle over a table with a broth, robust orange cheese, and a hearty slab of meat. His round fingers wrapped around his thick black brew. His eyes were far away, as if his soup were the sea, and the dumpling the ship the carried him away. His wiry grey whiskers hardly shifted with his sigh…



3 thoughts on “Microcuento 3: The Warrior

    1. Thank you! You’re very kind! I always try to make sure that no matter how long or short the story is, the reader can step away from my fiction with a little more than they had before! Even if it’s just a moment of dwelling on an idea! Thanks for reading!

      Liked by 1 person

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