lmb_words_stories_The old hunters

The night that had lasted for the past hours ended and the morning began to crawl over the hills, over the forests and oceans. Little golden streams were lighting the dew on the flowers and leaves and little spiders began to weave their webs. It was the sort of morning that could be described with 'beautiful'… except for the little puffy clouds of smoke that came from a small clearing inside a huge forest. The smoke belonged to a bonfire at which three old and several young men were sitting, cooking something that had not been able to run away quickly enough or even think quickly enough that those big, hairy things with leather and steel all over their body would perhaps not want to ask for the way.
"This is the most wonderful thing on the whole earth", one of the older men said. He wore the kind of clothes nobody would dare to wear voluntarily, not even at a costume party. His head was completely bold except for four little hairs that reached down to his shoulders. The author lacks any means to describe the face of this man but it can be said that it had a lot of similarity with his sword which was worn out and… well, not in best shape.
"The smell of a morning reborn, the cry of the lonely eagle and a good bonfire with people you trust", he added. The others looked into the sky deliberately, issuing a sound of agreement that could described best as 'hmmmmm'.
Suddenly the second of the older man, who looked a bit younger than the others, which he actually was as he was only 76, raised his right hand, looked up with a dreamy expression in his eyes and answered: "This and the solid ground under the feet, the knowledge of a good arrow in your bow and the prey in front of your eyes… that's all a man needs for life!"
Again sounds of agreement could be heard from the others. The man who had spoken first, obviously the leader of the group, turned to the third greybeard. "What do you think, my old friend?", where 'old' was a complete understatement as telling from his beard that reached down to his feet and his skin that looked like leather from the stone-age, this man had to be at least ninety, maybe even older.
Surprised the man looked up from what he was doing - whatever he was doing - and asked: "What shaysh?"
More or less astonished by the lack of wisdom and poesy in this answer, the man asked again, this time even more solemnly: "What do you think are the most important things on the whole planet?"
Expecting an answer that would only be issued once and so complex for which even the cleverest people around (well, let's extend the word 'around' to a few thousand miles, hunters are usually not very clever, you know) would take years to interpret and understand, everybody leaned forward and it became very quiet in the forest. Well, it didn't really become quiet because all the animals did not see the point in stopping to scream and to squeak and to grumble.
The old man rubbed his chin, thought for about half a minute and then answered: "Well, the mosht important shingsh… well, that would be… good dentishtry and shoft lavatory paper!"
Even the gods would have laughed about this if they hadn't been busy with arguing the Ice-Giants because they had not returned the lawnmower.

(august 2002)