Unia: Echo of Harmony

Amid the vast expanse of the open fields, a solitary figure stood, his silhouette etched sharply against the deepening twilight. His eyes, deep wells reflecting the fading embers of the day, were fixed on the horizon where the sky bled into vivid streaks of orange and red—a dramatic tableau that offered no solace to the chill seeping into his soul, but rather seemed to mock the tumult raging within him.

The soft rustle of the foliage, once swaying to the gentle rhythm of the wind, now sounded a dirge for the elusive parental love he had lost. The vast fields, once a symbol of freedom and life, now stretched before him as an endless void.

The sensation that enveloped him was an inexplicable desolation, the origins of which he could not discern. It was as though he had been bereft of a guardian—a presence that had shielded and accompanied him every moment since his birth. Now, this unseen protector had vanished, leaving him in a profound and unsettling solitude.

A crushing wave of despair gripped the man, suffusing his thoughts with fear and loneliness, while each heartbeat thudded against his chest like a drum of war. “What’s happening?” A sigh, drawn from the depths of his being, escaped his chest, a mournful note that resonated as if echoing at the world's very margins.

"Maestro? Maestro Baruch, are you alright?" The voice, laced with concern, sliced through the thickening haze of Baruch's unease at the very moment it threatened to engulf him whole.

Jolted from his reverie, Baruch turned, his features a mask veiling the storm within. "Y-yes... Thank you, Carlos," he stammered, his voice a faint echo of its usual strength. The abrupt shift from his deep reflections to the palpable worry in Carlos's expression bridged his inner turmoil with the external reality.

"You stood still like the old oak, and I got worried. I hope me stepping in ain't a problem," Carlos continued. "It's alright. Your concern is comforting, truly." Baruch confessed, the shadows in his gaze softening as a rare, fleeting smile touched his lips. His mind, however, wandered to Tabitha and Daniel—his family, his heartstrings. ‘Are they safe?’ he pondered briefly, wrestling with the protective instincts that stirred within him. "Who am I to worry about Tabitha? She's Adon Diurnix's prophetess, after all..." he silently chided himself, banishing the tendrils of worry with a disciplined shake of his head.

Shaking off the remnants of unease that clung stubbornly to his consciousness, Baruch scanned his surroundings. He stood on the village outskirts, where the tamed earth of fields met the untamed whispers of the wild. There, under the quiet gaze of the setting sun, three figures cast long shadows across the land: himself, Carlos—the steward of the village—and a solitary, restless bull.

Carlos, visibly distressed, gestured towards the pasture. "This bull's gone wild, más terco than ever. Very angry!" he explained, his voice laced with worry. "Managed to pen the others, but this one fought like the devil, almost goring a man today. Been getting worse every day."

Baruch recognized the wild glint in the bull's eyes—an unnerving echo of past encounters with creatures similarly afflicted. A surge of resolve steadied his voice as he declared firmly, yet calmly, "I will talk to this beast. Wait here." His eyes never left the bull, reading its tense posture and every slight twitch as warnings of its unpredictable nature.

Carlos instinctively extended his hand, as if to physically restrain Baruch. "Maestro, be careful," he implored, his voice thick with genuine concern, his words fading into a hesitant murmur, "...it's too dangerous." Yet, Baruch’s calm confidence quelled Carlos's anxieties as he assured, "I will handle this; don’t worry." The druid stepped forward, his presence alone seemingly pacifying the disturbed air around them.

As Baruch neared, the bull, a colossal beast, scraped at the earth with fervent aggression, eyes blazing with a wild frenzy, it fixed its gaze on Baruch. The druid extended his arm, his palm open as if offering peace, channeling the serene clemency of the Ancient Forest coursing through his veins. Yet, with a thunderous bellow that shook the leaves on distant trees, the bull charged, muscles rippling under its dark hide. Baruch stood resolute, the tranquility of the forest within him contrasting sharply with the violent storm before him.

Channeling the nature bestowed raw power, Baruch met the bull head-on. His hands, now conduits of the forest's might, clamped onto the raging horns with a grip as unyielding as the bedrock, while his feet, like the roots of an ancient tree, anchored firmly into the soil beneath. The ground groaned and shifted, threatening to fracture under the immense force of their confrontation.

As the primal dance pursued, a battle of wills between nature creations, the air charged with dense fog of dust. With a monumental heave Baruch turned the bull's momentum against itself, hurling it to the ground with a thunderous impact.

As the bull toppled, the soil answered Baruch's call, shifting and stirring under his command. From beneath the verdant surface, roots erupted like the arms of the earth mother, entwining the beast's limbs with inexorable strength and precision of a weaver. The bull's struggles ebbed as the roots tightened, its fiery spirit quelled by the tight embrace of the earth.

Baruch, his breathing heavy from the strain, looked down upon the bull, now quiet and subdued beneath him. Its once wild eyes, now dim and resigned, reminded him painfully of the wolves he had encountered a couple days ago on his approach to the village. Those creatures, too, had displayed a disturbing and unnatural aggression that no natural law could explain—a clear perversion of their true nature. Had it been ordinary humans instead of Baruch who stumbled upon these wolves, they would almost certainly have met an agonizing end.

Here on the village outskirts, this bull exhibited the same haunting madness. With a heavy heart, Baruch knelt by the imposing creature, extending a gentle hand to its formidable head. This touch went beyond simple physical interaction; it was a sacred communion, an exchange whispered in the ancient druidic art—the language of the heart. As Baruch’s palm connected with the coarse fur, their heartbeats synchronized: their heartbeats aligned, and the bull's fears and rage flowed into Baruch, mingling with his own emotions in a silent, empathetic dialogue.

Having completed this profound exchange, Baruch turned to Carlos and with a measured, deliberate motion, beckoned Carlos closer. "Its spirit and mind are twisted," Baruch murmured, each word heavy with a sorrow of one who witnesses the corruption of nature’s design.

Carlos’s voice pierced the heavy silence: "The fields ain't yielding much, and now this! What a mess!" For Carlos, focused on the immediate demands of survival, the afflicted bull was a practical loss—a tool now rendered useless. But for Baruch, whose essence was intricately woven into the tapestry of nature, the animal's suffering resonated as vividly and acutely as his own pains—a shared agony with all living things, perceptible only to those of his ancient kin. To him, every being, from the most venerable druid to the humblest forest creature, held equal significance, each deserving of compassion and reverence alike.

"This noble creature deserves our compassion, especially now, at its end.” Baruch mused quietly, his eyes on Carlos carrying a subtle rebuke. Carlos, feeling the weight of the druid's silent censure, was enveloped by a reflective silence, his previous complaints suddenly stilled.

Gently, with a tenderness that belied the strength within, Baruch caressed the beast, his murmurs a lullaby against the tempest of its fear. "Shh... shh... it's alright... it will be over soon," he whispered, his hands a bastion of calm amidst the storm. Under his care, the beast's panic ebbed away, leaving behind a tranquil resignation, a trust placed wholly in the hands of the forest guardian.

"I’m sorry,” Baruch whispered, his voice a low murmur laden with a sorrow as vast as the skies above. The words scarcely broke the evening's gentle hush. With deliberate motion, he extended a hand, fingers moving as though drawing forth an unseen thread from the fabric of the world itself. Eyes shut, he breathed a prayer into the twilight, a plea unheard yet deeply felt. The vines, at his silent command, constricted with a swift mercy around the beast's neck, granting it an escape from suffering. A crisp snap, stark and final, rent the air, followed by a silence that spoke volumes of the deed done.