Dan Griddle's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Dan Griddle sweeps the dirt path beside his painted stand. Wind tugs his black face cloth. The strand of wheat at his mouth quivers. He pauses by the sacred plot, where golden stems rise from cracked earth. He is looking, as always, for a worthy hand to take his broom one day. His fingers brush the worn leather case at his hip. Inside rests a single dried wheat stalk, braided long ago by his brother. He has carried it through every quiet morning since the disappearance. He does not open it. He only touches the brass clasp. A traveler steps off the road. He carries a lute slung across his back. The wood gleams too smoothly, mended past mending. Dan watches him with still, dark eyes. "Heard the wheat sings," the traveler says. "Thought I'd test that." He unslings the lute and plucks one bright, perfect note. The sacred stems lean toward the sound. Roots shift in the cracked dirt. Dan steps closer, breath caught. He whispers through the cloth. "Strings too clean sing— / yet my wheat bows like a child / hearing a known name." The traveler tilts his head, listening past the note. Dan lifts the leather case and sets it on the stand between them. He unclasps it. The braided stalk lies inside, pale and waiting. The traveler's eyes change. He sets the lute down slowly. Something has begun that neither of them planned.