A young boy trudged along a worn dirt road, desperately fighting against a relentless storm. He had begun this adventure in earnest, leaving a life of farming to travel the wondrous world as a travelling bard. He wanted to meet new people, play his merry little songs, and live the life he dreamed of ever since he was small. 

He wandered the fields, going wherever he saw fit to, aiming to entertain travelers who might happen to pass by. However, his journey was not quite going as smoothly as he had planned it to. Not only had he been caught up in a storm, but his precious lyre happened to break during his trip, the one and only thing he had and needed to continue his journey. Tears threatened to spill as he gazed at the pathetic instrument. It was a gift from his mother, a parting one, once he had left home. But the once pristine instrument was now torn in half by his carelessness. But he did not want despair over it for too long. He resolved to fix it as soon as he could once he reached a town. 

He stopped at a fork in the road. Through the sheet of rain, he could see a crooked sign, though it was impossible to read. He decided to chance the left side of the road, hoping it would lead him to the right place. 

Walking down that path, he was eventually met with a dense thicket of forest. Not quite the shelter I was hoping to encounter, but it’ll do, he thought. Shaking the rain from his hair, he entered the forest, thankfully kept dry by the solid roof of leaves. 

As he walked he saw remnants of what once was a village: a broken down well, a cart overwhelmed with undergrowth, the skeletal remains of houses, and a desolate environment. The despair that the environment radiated seemed tangible. Briefly, the boy saw his own village, torn down just like the one before him before he reminded himself that it was merely a vision of his own imagination. He shook away those dark thoughts and continued onward. 

Suddenly, there was a large brick wall before him. He entered through an opening, and was surprised to see the sight before him.

Life was abundant in the ruins he happened upon, plants springing up from cracks in the floor to being sprawled across the ruin’s walls. What seemed to be so dark and forlorn, seemed to liven up with greenery. Even in such ruins, life had managed to thrive and make what was once seemingly miserable prosperous. 

This flourish of life calmed his distressed mind. But with his mind at ease, he became aware of his exhaustion from walking about so much. The boy plopped down among the leaves with a huff, his tired body finally able to rest. His eyelids threatened to droop when a low, rumbling growl could be heard awfully close by. Fear struck him instantly, for he was without a weapon or anything to defend himself with. What could he do in this situation?

His panic flared as the monster lumbered into his vision. The beast had not spotted the boy just yet, but it was dangerously close. His breath caught in his throat and he did not dare to move an inch. 

The boy could do nothing. One move, and then it was all over. The world seemed so cruel then, placing misfortune upon misfortune on the poor boy. 

And then suddenly, a rising note resounded in the air, followed by a deep echoing sound and a sharp twang in the air. The beast screeched and thundered away, the ground quaking in its escape.

It was the sound of a hunting horn, a sound that the boy had not heard ever since he left his home. A rustle of the plants froze him once more, and in place of the beast was a towering, well-built man, cloaked in the colors of the forest. 

He approached the trembling boy and reached his hand out. It was rough and crisscrossed with scars, but when he held the boy’s hand, his touch was gentle. He helped him up and noticed the broken lyre.

“If you go past these ruins, there should be a town nearby to fix your instrument,” he said, his voice a baritone rumble. The boy, still shocked, merely nodded. The stranger seemed satisfied with this answer and left without another word. The boy stared after him and pondered for a moment. 

“After all, the world was sick, life was hard to bear—and behold, here a source seemed to spring forth, here a messenger seemed to call out, comforting, mild, full of noble promises.”

Herman Hesse, Siddhartha

Finally, he gathered his thoughts and items and began to journey once more. Despite the darkness in his adventure, there was light to be found, even if he hadn’t sought to find it himself.