The old man

Dorian trudged through the slimy mud; after his legs got tired, he crawled. When He finally made it to the cave, he was alone and exhausted. He summoned enough strength to pull himself into the shade of the cave, sheltering himself from the rain.

A heavy fire was like in a cave, he could see it flickering in the walls. What worried him was how he'd gotten to this land and who had made the fire.

He was sprawled out on his back, his chest heaving up and down at a constant rhythm that matched the wailing of the rain outside.

Something echoed through the cave; from his better judgment,, they sounded like footsteps, but they were faint, like the scurrying of rats. He turned and saw the shadow of a hand, a large hand engulfing the fire and blackening the cave walls with deep darkness.

Scared out of his mind Dorian got to his feet, he balled his fist, fully prepared for a fight whatever it maybe but what he saw was an old man, the man turned and glanced at him, he had eyes like twin suns, they let out a bright yellow glow and seem to enliven anything they look at, even Dorian.

Dorian, who had attacked with the charisma of a beast, felt his will to do battle drain away like water through a sieve. The tension in his fists lessened. The old man smiled at him, chuckled lightly, and turned back to the pot.

Dorian looked around the room and saw no weapon; he still held his suspicions; after all, he'd been through with Estiah, he wasn't ready to trust anyone just yet.

"What is your name young man," the old man said while stirring his black pot hunged over the fire.

Dorian took a closer look at him, and to his surprise, he didn't appear that old; despite the grey hair and his oldish face and demeanor, his body looked fresh and prime, like an athlete.

Dorian dropped his hands and said. "I'm Dorian, I'm sorry to barge in on you like this."

"Oh no, I don't mind it; it's what I'm here for. I don't own this cave, and neither do you; it gives, it gives free, and we can't lay claim to freedom and call it our own and hoard it away from Others."

With his words, Dorian was sure he was definitely old. Only an old man would speak wisdom at an uncomfortable moment like this. The old man had kept his attention on the boiling pot the whole time he spoke.

"So why have you come here?" The old man said. "shelter or freedom?"

What is he talking about? Dorian wondered. The old man took out the wooden spoon from the pot and tasted it; he shook his head a little with a smile and turned to Dorian.

"So which is it, what are you looking for?"

"Well, I just came out of the mud and rain, so I'm here for shelter."

"mud and rain? Which mud and rain? I haven't noticed any mud and rain since I got here."

Dorian was a bit stunned; the cold way he spoke didn't indicate he was trying to be funny. Dorian could clearly hear the storm outside, and he was sure he could too.

It must all be a joke, but his eyes showed he meant every word, or was he just faking that too?

"can't you hear it? Are you deaf? It's beating down on us."

"Oh no, that? That's not rain, Dorian"

This must be a joke, he thought; it felt like one, too, and he wasn't in the mood for jokes.

You see, those are tears falling down from the weeping heart up above.

He must be crazy, Dorian thought, he felt an inner nudge to ask him about the mud.

"Okay, if the rain is tears, then what about the mud? What are they?" Dorian spoke with a quip in his voice and a silent smile on his face. He was making fun of an idiotic assumption and it gave him a feeling of superiority.

"The mud? Oh, that's anger," He said. Dorian almost burst out laughing, dying had made him a bit cynical his lust to stay alive had all died away from all the toil and turmoil what remained was a bitterly scarred cynic

"You can feel it thug on your leg, grab onto you, and pull you down, " the old man said. "Anger works pretty much the same way; it holds you down and clings onto you when you want your freedom; you won't get very far with anger."

The look in his eye made every word ring like a piercing reminder of past memories to Dorian, he recalled the anger that filled him when he attacked Hellena, he wasn't in control, just like the mud pulled him down hill, it pulled him into the depths of his subconscious and took his destiny in hand, dictating his every action, but he loved it back then, and a small but very vibrant piece of him still loved it now.

The old man turned back to his pot, letting his words settle in on Dorian's mind. The sound of the rain filled Dorian's ear, it was more significant than ever now. For some reason, the man he thought was making jokes had touched him with what he expected to be a very subpar punchline.

A tearful heart above, Dorian thought, wondering about the rain. What could that mean?

"Care for supper Dorain?" The old man said. He looked and saw the old man holding a plate; he felt it was okay; he felt safe, so he said yes.

After a little while they sat side by side, Dorian took the first bite of the old man's broths he didn't know, he was eagerly watching him but as he swallowed it he could see from the corner of his eyes, the blurred images of the man staring at him I anticipation

He turned feeling slightly uncomfortable, and then the old man said,

"What did you think? Is it good?"

Dorian seemed a little surprised at the change of demeanor; he seemed less of a wise man and more of a little girl who had just prepared her first dish.

"It's really good," Dorian said. The old man clasped his hands together and thanked Dorain. He turned to his own plate of the broth. As he was about to take the first spoon, then, he stopped, like he'd just remembered something. He turned to Dorian with a smile on his face.

"I've got to apologize, Dorian, I'm really sorry"

"For what?" Dorian said, feeling a bit uneasy. Did he poison the food? He wondered.

"Here you were introducing yourself and I never told you my own name."

Dorian looked at him, wondering why he'd made such a passionate plea for such a small issue.

"It's nice to meet you, Dorian," he put out his hand for a warm handshake, Dorian dropped his spoon on his plate and embraced his hand, then the old man said,

"I am Zeus, God of all there is."