The tale of the two travelers~

Two travelers met on a windy night.

They gathered around a fire and exchanged stories.

One was a Sentinel resting from a long journey in the desert. In the middle of nowhere, he waited for what he had lost. Something that never came. He was tired of the winds, so he decided to stay still and steadfast.
A blind imprisoned monk and the Sentinel crossed paths. Outside a carriage, he was thrown, and the blind man fell right in front of the guard’s knees. He could not see, but he felt a presence, a light. Like fireflies, glowing dots led him to the hand of the guard.
He continued to hold the hand of the guard, whose air surrounding him smelled of gardenias and seas. When their eyes reached the same height, the monk went to let go of his hand. And then he felt a tightness in the heart. As if someone had put his hands inside and was holding it hanging.
He felt the thorn that the guard had for so long in his hand. Only a blind person could see it, and feel it. Because to feel it meant it entered the eyes of his soul. The blind man didn’t know how to take it off but couldn’t leave the other man behind.
Months, years, winds, storms, everything was left in shambles. Just before the blind man died, he took a knife and cut off their hands that were joined, as they had been prisoners for all this time.
He fell back, hitting his back. The thorn also fell. The guard smiled at the rose coming out of the thorn. And the blind man searched with his touch for his severed hand that freed him from the prison.

So what if he couldn’t play music again?
He could now freely sing …