Strange how a thing so small could hold the hopes of so many.
He stared at the small shape, the tiny waving hands, the sleepy almost-closed eyes, and it seemed impossible that something so fragile could ever become strong.
“But thus is the changeable nature of humanity,” she said.
He couldn’t fathom it, what it must be like to be so malleable. For the future not to be set, for cause and effect to exist not just externally but within you, within every cell and every thought. He was as he had always been; the same drives defined him, the same pleasures amused him, the same alliances plagued and propped him up by turns. To have those things become mutable. To be so insignificant, and by degrees become meaningful, become necessary. What a strange life humans lead.
“You will have to learn to understand him if you are to care for him,” she reminded primly; but then, she did everything primly, being the essence of propriety.
He nodded, touched a finger gently to the baby’s soft round cheek. It stirred and gurgled but did not quite wake, and he marvelled at the warmth of its small, soft shape. His own fingers were perfectly room temperature; it would not do to cause too many ripples. To be foreign to his surroundings. What would he do with a child? How would he raise it so it would not be alien to its own kind?
“You will do as good a job as you can, and no better. I think all parents feel afraid when they first have a child.”
Afraid? He did not think he was afraid; not exactly. It was more that – having a child – this was not something he had done before. His immutable life was changing already, after seventeen centuries of stillness. What would he be in twenty one years, when the child was ready to seize its destiny? Would he be so different as to not know himself? Was such a thing even possible?
“Go. They’re coming,” she urged, and he kisses her cheek swiftly, gathered the child up from the stroller. Behind him the Bridge stretched, a curve into endless possibility. He knew how to walk the secret roads, hidden paths, and the Bridge would take him where he needed to go in order to disappear. He was the traveller, after all. Who better to hide a child?
“And – good luck,” she said, and her worried eyes guided his steps away.
.
Image courtesy of Stuart Thursby. Stuart is an art director and photographer, currently adventuring in the wilds of Germany, where this photo was taken. To see more of his work, or to check out his portfolio, please visit StuartThursby.com.