Out of the Darkness by David A. Jacinto

Author:David A. Jacinto [Jacinto, David A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Forefront Books
Published: 2023-10-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

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CAPTIVATED BY THE SLOW GLIDE of a peregrine falcon over the meadow and brook running through it, Tom sat silent at the entrance to his cavern home of the past six months. He warmed his hands on a hot cup of evergreen tea. Steam rose in the cold, peaceful morning air as the first light of dawn crept into Spring Hollow, sheltered in the protective cradle of the imposing Peak Mountains.

Over the summer and fall he had thrown himself into the work of survival. In this quiet asylum, far from the complications of humanity, he put aside the calamities of the outside world. A lone man in the wilderness, he had quarantined himself, and with blood, sweat, tears, and surety of wit, he had survived and even prospered. There were no eyes upon him here in the harsh environs of nature, except those of the Almighty. And for that he’d been grateful.

It seemed on this calm, cold morning all had changed overnight. The predawn whistling winds had swept through Spring Hollow, clearing away the last vestiges of autumn. The evergreens may not have noticed, but the sycamore surely did. Perched precariously at water’s edge off the pooling pond, the giant sycamore’s yellow, red, and golden autumn leaves had broken fee to fly in a blaze of color, swirling and sailing in the cold wind on their last dance to beckon the start of winter.

His eyes followed the current of water meandering in the brook on its tranquil course through the meadow to pond in the life-giving estuary. The pooling pond, created by hardworking beavers in building their logjam home, was the cornerstone in the circle life of the meadow. In nature’s own way, the destructive power of the raging water had been tamed to preserve and support the abundance of life.

Thanks to the beaver, whom Tom affectionately named Sylvester, Tom also had all the logs he had needed to build onto his new cavern home, complete with a protective portico and insulated pine-bough door to keep out the cold night air.

Inside the temperature remained relatively constant. He had fashioned a mat of dried reeds to cover the rough-hewn limestone floor, a deerskin mattress stuffed with pine boughs, and a heavy rabbit-fur blanket. A haunch of venison hung now from the ceiling, and in the corner sat a wooden box filled with honeycomb to make honeyberry jam. Lining the walls were tools, animal skins, and a formidable array of hunting traps, snares, a bow, an obsidian-tipped spear, and knives. The rear of the comfortable grotto home was partitioned off with cords of drying firewood, and behind that lay the cave. The black void led into a catacomb of ancient tunnels, some of which he still had not explored.

A cooking hearth had been built of flat stones in another corner of the den; a carved bowl with utensils sat beside it. On cold mornings, when the hearth glowed with fire, the surrounding stacked rock provided thermal warmth that radiated throughout the room.

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