Historical Setting: The Great Skellig in an unknown time
Trinity hobbles close behind as the little monk arrives on the beaten path with the daily supplies. Every morning someone brings this to our door, or, like this morning, he goes and gets it then he shares the goats’ milk and oats with me and Trinity.
Neither dog nor man is concerned with leaving me alone anymore, now that I have risen in this healing.
I speak to him, though I know he doesn’t hear my voice. Surely something in my face or gesture or soul can speak of my gratitude.
“Thank you.”
After the dog, the monk and I have had the goats’ milk and the flask is empty, today, the little monk hands me the empty skin and points to that particularly worn path to the southeast. Without words I know he is sending me on this mission to return the flask. It is nothing like the steep path I see rising to the pinnacle. But even on this smoother path I stumble, and regain my footing relying on the walking stick. For someone strong and with steady steps this would be easy. But healing is tenuous.
The path follows the crest of this rill around and just ahead it dips into a green place on a more southward facing slope with a walled garden and a pasture. Goats graze there and some of these sea birds strut around like roosters. Here, the path leads to another little mound of carefully stacked stone with a thatched top, looking like a fairytale acorn, where I might expect to see a little orange beetle keeping house in a fantastically tiny world.
A little cast metal bell is mounted by the door, so I ring that bell to announce my presence here. The little door, woven of sea-washed vines, opens, and a small woman is startled by the sight of me, and she closes the door immediately, surely surprised to see a stranger at her door. Then she opens the door slowly, peaking out.
“I was expecting Brother Tim.”
Like the little hermit she has round rosy cheeks shining from the hood of her robe. She wears a linen scapular, very much like my make-do tunic, only she also has a woolen monk’s robe beneath the linen. She keeps her curious gaze on me, as she takes the flask from my hand.
I say, “He sent me to return the flask this morning.”
(Continues Tuesday, June 30, 2026)
Lazarus Ink 