Long ago in those hills that have since been forgotten by time there was a boy that had lost track of time. He's not exactly sure how it happened.
He had gone through extra lengths to ensure he had brought his pocket watch with him going so far as to tie it to his wrist using his belt.
(Forcing him to hold his trousers up with one hand as a result.) But that watch was useless to him now and would be even more useless against the scorn of his mother.
I reckon I outta tell you folks by now who I am and how I know so much about this boy whose name is Silas. I am the watcher of these hills. The guardian of it's floral and fauna.
I've been looking over these people and telling their stories for 499 years. (This coming August will make it 500) My name is Alaric and you would be wise to refrain from shortening it to Al.
Now back to the story.
Silas was running as fast as any 10-year-old could run. (Hint not as fast as he thinks.
) Through piles of leaves and twigs and puddles of mud and limestone he continued alongside the river that led to the small and quaint cabin he shared with his mom, dad, and older brother.
It wasn't very often that he had time to behave in such a manner but this was a special occasion his 10th year on earth.
His request was simple a day off from working the farm and his mother had agreed to it on the condition that he be home before dark to which he gave no hesitation in shaking her hand.
(His fear of the dark making it easy for him to want to be home in time.
) But it was late in the evening now and his ran he seemed to be in a race with the sun as he tries to reach his place of rest before the sun reaches hers in the west.
"I'm almost there." He thought to himself "It's up over the top of that hill." He had begun to see the smoke now over the hill. A clear sign that the family was preparing for bed.
"I've got to hurry or I'll never get a day like this again.
" Silas was unable to come to terms with the fact he was late due to his own merit beginning to take his anger out on the inanimate pocket watch.
"Stupid watch what good are you if I'm late?!" He threw the watch as far as a 10-year old could throw. (Actually, farther than you might think.
) It landed it a small hole face down that he recognizes as not a hole but in fact the track of a horse.
He picks up his watch and as he runs, he notices that there are many tracks like the one his watch fell into and they multiply as he reaches the top of the hill.
And there it was. A fire but not one from the stove but from a cabin full of people that together had once huddled around the stove on cold December nights. He couldn't believe it.
He rubbed his eyes. He pinched his arm as hard as he could. "This has to be a dream please let me be dreaming right now the thinks to himself.
" But it's not a dream and the reality of the situation hits him like an arrow to the chest.
"Mom! Dad! Enoch! Where are you?!" All that greets him are the complaints of birds angry at him for disturbing the tranquility of the crackling fire.
He is alone now and for the first time in his life he wishes to be scorned. Hands shaking, he reaches in his pocket and pulls out the watch. Its face now cracked he turns it over.
On the back an amateurish engraving that reads.
"To Silas, now you'll have no excuse to be late. Love mom."