The fisherman first encountered the healer at his front door, in the late hours of the night.
“Can I help you?” the fisherman asks, looking over the healer. She smiles shyly, her green eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
“I think I can help you actually,” the healer answers, offering the fisherman a filled bottle.
“Spirit, eh?” the fisherman sighs looking over the innocent liquid, “I’m not really interested, sorry. Take your wares elsewhere.”
“If that is what you wish,” the healer replies, bowing her head and disappearing out into the night. The fisherman watches her silhouette vanish before he shuts the door. He feels bad for the weaker souls who rely on spirit to preserve themselves.
Shaking the thought out of his head, he goes about his daily business, until the healer returns later that very week.
“I don’t need your spirit!” the fisherman growls, annoyed to see her again, “Please don’t come back here.”
“I don’t mean to bother you, master,” the healer responds and lowers her head before slyly adding, “It’s just that I can see great sadness in your eyes, and I merely wish for you to be happy like I am.”
“What?”
“I feel a longing for purpose in your life, a desire for something more than what you have. I can give it to you; I can bring you true happiness.”
“Please don’t come back,” the fisherman repeats quietly and slams the door on her. His feet stay stuck to the spot as he considers what she had told him. He contemplates whether or not he’s ever truly been happy in his life.
“I’ve never done anything wrong,” the man murmurs to himself, turning slowly from the doorway as the question worms its way into the gray matter of his brain, “Why am I not happy like other people?”
When the healer returns the following day, the fisherman seems less defensive.
“Hello again, master,” the healer greets him, curtsying gracefully at his doorstep.
“Why don’t you think I’m happy?” he answers, immediately revealing his thoughts.
“I can just feel it about you,” the healer replies, a smirk hiding at the corners of her mouth, “It’s just the natural plight of man to be lonely and afraid, but spirit can help you.”
The fisherman purses his lips apprehensively before speaking:
“Fine, how much for a bottle?”
“Oh no,” the healer says, the green flashing in her eyes, “you need it too much, master; I wouldn’t dream of charging you.”
“Oh, alright then,” the fisherman smiles, feeling assured by the woman.
“Here you are,” the healer grins, withdrawing a flask of spirit from her pack. She reaches the bottle outwards, its clear fluid contents glowing warmly. After a brief pause of hesitation, the fisherman takes the bottle from the healer, looking it over.
“Enjoy,” she smiles and again vanishes from the fisherman’s sight.
Barely registering the healer’s departure, the fisherman opens up the bottle. He takes a gentle sip of the beverage. As it runs past his tongue and down his throat, the man notices with surprise that it tastes no different than water. He raises an eyebrow, wondering how people could possibly depend upon it as much as they do.
He takes another gulp of the drink, closing his door to hide his presence from his neighbors.
Feeling the slight warmth of relief settling in his stomach, the fisherman allows himself to smile; the spirit feels awfully comfortable in his belly.
