The [Im]Perfection Dare 2- To be a Pilgrim

A scene set on a farm

I know I've been M.I.A recently, but hopefully I'll be reappearing more frequently. This means a lot to me, so I want to think this through well before I post it.

So here we go.

Dreckly doodles,

Z xx

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The sky lay thick and heavy over the fields as darkness fell over the land that night. Darkness thick with clouds that threatened to burst at any moment, and begin the storm.

The land was eerily quiet, as no animal stood upon it- the sheep and cattle had been gathered up into the barns, the pigs in their sties, the chickens in their coops. Not a mouse was out that night, and the darkness was pierced by no light.

No light but that of the farmhouse, where the farmer, his fellows and his family were gathered up, nervously awaiting the return of the oldest son, Edward. Against everyone's wishes, he had gone out as dusk was falling, determined to bring in the horse from the farthest paddock.

"She'll panic and hurt herself if she's left out in the storm." He'd said, before slipping out when no-one was looking. At the tender age of twelve, he would be no match for the incoming tempest, and yet, as the wind picked up, and the rain began to spit, there was no sign of him.

"I'm going out after him." The farmer said for the tenth time, and again, his wife restrained him.

"What, so he can come back and find you lost, then go out to find you and so on? I don't think so."

And so the farmer took to pacing the rug in front of the fire again, wearing a path within it as the winds picked up speed, and the rain began to fall harder around them.

"Dave, lad, there's nothing we can do now." One of the older farmhands approached him. "Nothin' to do but watch and wait. And hope and pray. Edward's a good lad- he'll get back soon, don't fret."

David looked up at the farmhand, a defeated look within his eyes. "Will he?"

"Of course he will. But let's pray that it's soon. Me old man was a vicar-y sort, so I guess I picked up a few things. Will anyone pray with me?"

Nods of agreement spread around the room, and the farmhand continued. "All of you, alright. Well, let us pray."

Heads bowed, hands clasped and eyes shut, the party knelt together, lifting their prayers along with that of the old farmhand.

"Dear Lord, we come to you this eve, as sheep do to their master, seeking protection. We ask your blessing on this farm, and all the souls within it. We pray that this storm may not harm us too badly, us or any man, and that it may quickly pass by." A roar of thunder tried to drown him out, and a flash of lightning joined it. But the man continued, unaffected. "We pray for all those caught out in this storm, and that they may return home soon. Particularly we pray for our little Edward, and that he may be returned to us soon, unharmed. Lord of Mercy, hear our prayer."

On the last three words, the rest of the group joined him, before they spoke, of one accord, the words that their Saviour taught them:

"Our Father,

Who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be Thy name.

Thy kingdom come,

Thine will be done,

On Earth as it is in Heaven,

Give us this day our daily bread,

And forgive us our trespasses,

As we forgive those who trespass against us,

And deliver us from evil.

For Thune is the Kingdom, the Power and the Glory,

For ever and ever,

Amen."

The storm was fiercer than ever now, the winds whipping around the house, rain lashing on the rooftops, and thunder rolling around the hills. The children were weeping tears of fear, their mother trying to comfort them in vain. The men stood around, faces emotionless as they battled with inner turmoil.

And then came a soft knock to the bolted door. On the other side stood a shivering child, eyes wide with terror, and hair dripping down his face.

Little Edward was home, safe and sound.