L'aura del Campo

Into the water, onto the brink [Quentin, Queen of Kumquats]

Into the water, onto the brink

Bareheaded, barefoot and cloaked in a dark grey frock, Quentin followed the King down to the water. He listened to the litany of laws, the daily recitation of rules. This daily ritual had become a moment of meditation. He leaped from stone to stone to the rhythm of the King's tenor. And just then — the King slipped and fell, hit his head and flopped into the water. Quentin stood stunned. The King did not surface. No time to think. He jumped in, grabbed a corner of the quilted robe, dragged it to shore. The King coughed up a fish. Here's a kinkin, Quentin offered. — Thank you. The King looked up at him with sad watery eyes.

© Kåre Enga [175.258] (7.oktober.2018)

116 words