Edge of the world

A strong wind was blowing, bending the many blades of grass with its force. It scourged up the waves of the river as it was flowing by angrily. On the riverside a man and a boy was sitting in the grass, watching the waves. They were both dressed in loincloth, and a spear was lying on the ground next to the man.

They’ve been sitting there for over half an hour now, just watching the river’s anger. The boy was fascinated by such a show of power by nature, but the man was used to it. His expression suggested determination and experience. They both had long, dirty black hair and deep green eyes, though unlike his father, the boy looked rather thin and weak. His elder was covered in muscles that were the results of his lifestyle as a hunter, a life which awaited the boy too once he got older.

The boy now looked up, past the river. There was a dense forest on the other side, too dark and crowded for the naked eye to see anything past it. He looked back at the river, then at the man.

“Father…” he started. “Why is this river so angry?”

The man let out a knowing sigh, then not even glancing at the boy he started to explain:

“My son… This river is called the river of the ancients.”

“The ancients?” the boy tilted his head, looking at the waves. “Our ancients?”

“Yes. Our forefathers and foremothers are scourging up the river.”

“But why? Aren’t they making it dangerous for us?”

“Exactly.” he nodded. “They are doing it to protect us.”

“From what?”

The man raised a hand, pointing at the trees in the far distance. “From the other side.”

The boy looked again, watching the trees with interest. “Why? What’s on the other side?”

The man lowered his hand now, looking at the boy. “Misery waits on the other side, nothing else. Past those trees is the edge of the world.”

“The edge of the world?” the boy’s eyes opened wide in surprise.

“Yes.” his father nodded. “Nothing lies past those trees, only emptiness.”

“How do you know?” the boy asked the legitimate question.

“There was one person who managed to cross the river of the ancients a long, long time ago.” the man explained, looking at the water again. “We now only know him as He Who Crossed. It took him three whole days of fighting against the waves, almost drowning countless of times until he finally made it to the other side. He stepped into the forest, but found no ground to step on, and fell down the edge of the world. It is said that his starved body is still falling in the nothingness.”

A long silence followed the explanation as the boy stared at the trees, contemplating what he just heard. He could practically feel the mystery in the air and on his skin. The forest was moving with the wind ever so slightly, making it look like they were alive, staring back at him threateningly.

“But father…” he eventually said. “If he never came back because he fell down the edge of the world, how do we know what happened to him?”

Another long silence followed, but this one was more awkward than mysterious. Eventually, the man slowly turned his head to look at the boy, then with a swift motion of his hand gave him a slap across the face.

“Ow!” the boy yelped up in pain. “Why did you do that?”

“Because you asked a stupid question.” the man answered and stood up, grabbing his spear from the ground. “Come on. We’re going home.”