Permission to be here

There was a small bird with broken wings on the side of the road. Elias sat down in the mud to be with it. He didn't pick it up, nor did he try to fix its wings. He knew when something was close to the brink of death. So he just sat there, with his palm open, hovering around the bird, as if asking for permission to be here. 

It looked up at him with its bead-black eyes, a small dying thing. 

The rain had stopped an hour ago, but the world was still damp: the small puddle beside him, the water dripping off the leaves above, the damp in his hair. He had given his hat to a child from a town back, because the kid was shivering. He wished he could do the same thing for the bird. 

“Leave it”,  said the voice in his head. "It will die whether you stay or not. And you know it.”

Elias knew it. The voice never lied to him, not even once—it only spoke of the truth, and he had learned not to argue with it. 

“I know,” He said out loud, to the voice or to the bird, it didn't matter which. “But it should not die alone.”

The voice didn't argue back. It went quiet in his chest. No matter how many times they were in a disagreement, the voice never disappeared. It stayed in its own corner within his mind.

The bird died a little while later. In its last moment, it stopped watching Elias and watched the sky instead. The clear blue sky after the rain was a better thing to watch than a wet man on the mud road. 

Elias dug in the mud road with his bare hand, to bury the bird in it. Its body was small and fragile in his palm, and then it fitted perfectly into the grave, which was then covered over with a layer of mud. 

When he finally stood, his knees ached, and his hands and clothes were cold and muddy. A lady was standing on the porch of the house across the road. He raised his muddy hand, open palm, not exactly a wave, to acknowledge her. She didn't wave back and just went back inside and locked the door.

“She is afraid of you.” The voice observed.

“I don't think so.” He took a look at his muddy palm. That must be it—no one wanted to go near a dirty wet rat. 

“There you are, Elias!” A booming voice echoed through the empty road, from a young man carrying a heavy backpack: Wren, his childhood friend and now companion. 

Elias raised his hand at Wren, but this time was met with an exaggerated groan. “You always wander around. Do you know how long it takes to search for you? And what is the deal with all the mud?!?”

“I buried the bird.” He muttered.

Wren’s face went softer. He then grabbed Elias's wrist—probably to drag him to the nearby river to wash off the mud—still careful not to touch the mud in his palm.

Was it always like this? Elias wondered. His mind drifting back to the past. No. Ten years ago, it had been the other way around. It was Elias who dragged the shorter man around, showing the crybaby the world. 

The burning smell of fire. the screaming of the villagers. The marching of soldiers. The numbing of the blade slash in his back, while protecting a small thing. And the last thing he remembered: Wren’s crying face and the warmth of his tears over Elias's cold body. 

“You are zoning out again.” Wren snapped his fingers, bringing Elias back to the present. He was at the riverbank, his hands and clothes clean. Wren must have washed him up and dressed him in new clothes. 

“I have gathered enough food and supplies. We should head to the next town now.” Wren handed him back his sword, forgotten in the blacksmith's shop when he had mindlessly wandered off the road. Elias put it back in the strap across his back. The weight felt natural to him. Handling a sword was easier than handling a human. 

“Thanks for always looking out for me,” Elias said, his voice, for a moment, firm and steady. “And sorry for making you worried earlier.” He extended his hand, open palm, to make amends.

Wren paused, his expression something Elias couldn't read. Then he sighed, and smiled faintly, accepting the gesture and holding his hand back. “I'm gonna age faster because of you, I swear,” he jested—but his fingers interlaced with Elias's. “And remember, never wander off with strangers, and never accept food from them.” 

Elias nodded and walked alongside him. Maybe something never changed after all. Especially since they were all each other had left. Together, they headed toward an uncertain journey to the world.