Around Smoldering Coals

If you'll take a moment to 'time travel' with me I will sweep you back to the first century A.D. to a little known valley way up in the Alps of Italia. This is what I was writing about today. 

The first snow of the season was drifting quietly down as the villagers emerged from the woods and started to amble up the hill. Tayletha and Stephanos stood in the doorway and watched it fall and even lifted up their hands to let the first flakes melt on their palms. The invigorating scent was so wonderful and Tayletha couldn't recall ever smelling something that refreshing before. There was beauty, also, as the night sky deepened and the snowflakes drifting down were highlighted by the glowing stars and the torch in the leaders' hands. The group of men, women, and children who so frequently had ran around barefoot; especially the women and children; now had their feet encased in heavy leather brogues, and fur-lined cloaks draped their bodies. No one seemed in a hurry to crowd into the small, dark hut at first, so they chatted outside until someone remembered that This Cabin had a Fireplace at the End of the House instead of in the middle, then they were all eager to see it.

While everyone was exclaiming about how bright it was in this hut, and so cozy, Silas ducked into his own, smaller cabin and brought out a metal container which he reverently unfastened. The men all crowded around curiously, as he gently unrolled a parchment while the women stood off to one side and wished they could see it also.

“Reading!” Someone breathed in awe.
“Look those are words! The written word! We haven't seen any writing since –since, I don't know when,”

The men shuffled around so others could get closer.

“I wonder what it says,” An elderly man peered at the words and someone held a lamp closer. It was a good thing the torch they had came with had been snuffed out or someones' hair or clothing could have caught fire in the tight quarters. “Do you mean this young stranger can actually make sense of these squiggles and strokes on the page?” he marveled.

“Hah, he’ll only pretend. He’s no Druid!” someone scoffed. Tayletha looked around sharply. She didn't understand the words but the derisiveness in that tone was plain. Just as she thought: it was that the hawk-nosed youth they called Gaelgar who was mocking. Tayletha eyed him warily then turned to watch the reactions of the others to the scroll they were longing to read. She vaguely wondered why they hadn't seen or heard more about the famous—and threatening—Druids. They were so knowledgeable. Surely they could have given these men an outstanding education.