5.1: Reading Exercise – The Gifts of the Warriors

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The Gifts of the Warriors

By James Thibeault

Several warriors made camp just as the stars above were beginning to shine. Because the enemy was located somewhere on the other side of the valley, fires were to be kept low—with only embers faintly glowing. Though it was difficult to mask the impending army that was to be invading in the morning, the captain ordered to be as much cloaked as possible. The warriors obliged, even if they were chilled by the night air.

One gray warrior, known as Dead Eyes, rested his shield and lance by the dull fire. The others instantly made room for him on the log that they hauled from the woods. It was too damp to sit on the soil, but many warriors still sat anyway. Only three of them had the privilege to be sitting on a log, and one even gave up their spot so that Dead Eyes could sit. This angered one particular warrior, known as Sharp Beak, who voiced his concern.

“We are to tolerate this?” he said in whispered tones.

The other warriors did not address his concerns. Instead, they stared up and looked at the stars. Sharp Beak stood up and walked over to the ones on the log.

“Comrades, tell me, why are only these few the ones who will sit? We have all marched through swamps, forests, and sand. Yet when it comes to the night, these are the few who are pampered with sturdy spots. Each night, I must settle amongst the snakes and scorpions. Tell me, why can I not sit?”

Silence and darkness blanketed the conversation. No one spoke. Before Sharp Beak could speak, one of the men on the log answered his query.

“I, Bringer of Stone, have earned my spot here. You, Sharp Beak, have only been on a few campaigns and do not deserve my attention.”

Sharp Beak roared in laughter, but then he immediately hushed himself. He looked far away to see if anything stirred from the captain’s tent. Once he noticed that none of the flaps had moved, he scoffed at Bringer of Stone’s words.

“I, Sharp Beak, have fought well throughout this journey. For not one fool has bested me in combat.”

“It only takes one fool,” whispered a voice in the dark.

Sharp Beak ignored the comment and inched closer to Bringer of Stone.

“Ah, so you have bested more fools than me? But if our opponents are all fools, this does not impress me. Why do you deserve this log?”

Annoyed, Bringer of Stone stood up and approached Sharp Beak. Sharp Beak sized up the man and was ready for a brawl. However, Bringer of Stone walked past him and knelt down to the embers. After a moment, he delicately picked one glowing ember the size of an eye and grasped it in his hands. Sharp Beak smelt burning flesh, but Bringer of Stone kept his eyes steady on the ember in his hand. Bringer of Stone breathed out then crushed the ember by making a fist. He did not wince nor emit a cry. When he released his hand, his palm was red and swollen. Bringer of Stone showed the palm to Sharp Beak then returned to his bench.

“Alright, you have earned your spot on the log, but these two must not have the same tolerance as you,” proclaimed Sharp Beak. “Are all these men on this log able to endure flames through callouses? Is this the metric in which we determine the right to sit?”

Sharp Beak approached the second man on the log. Before Sharp Beak had a chance to speak, he was interrupted, “I am Soft Feathers.” Sharp Beak laughed, but Soft Feathers was unamused. “Perhaps your beak may try to peck through my softness?”

Soft Feathers eyed the collection of swords that were properly sheathed. Sharp Beak looked at them, and it took him a moment to realize what Soft Feathers wanted. Afraid to look weak, Sharp Beak unsheathed one of the swords and pointed it as Soft Feathers. “Go on,” said Soft Feathers, “earn your spot to sit.” Angry, Sharp Beak slashed at his opponent’s head. Like playing with a child, Soft Feathers flew around the blade as though a gust appeared. Wherever Sharp Beak struck, Soft Feathers glided to another location. The warriors began to laugh, prompting Sharp Beak to swing with pure ferocity. Still, Soft Feathers remained untensed and floated around the fire like the ashes in the air. Finally, exhausted, Sharp Beak conceded and sheathed the blade.

“Fine,” Sharp Beak declared. “Some of these warriors have unmatched strength and skill. I will admit when I am bested, but this warrior!” He pointed to the elderly man on the log. “I cannot fathom his skill. He should not be guaranteed a spot because he has seen more moons than me. Why is he called Dead Eyes? Is it because he has died already, and it is merely a corpse we prompt up for laughs?” Sharp Beak expected laughter, perhaps even some smirks. However, none were amused. He seemed to have triggered a different emotion from the men. Even Soft Feathers and Bringer of Stone averted their gaze. “Ah,” said Sharp Beak, “I have found the fools. They are among us! You take pity on the old. Well, will the ones we fight at dawn take pity! I certainly do not. Come, Dead Eyes, give up your seat to the ones who are still living.”

Dead Eyes wearily rose. He braced an arm on Bringer of Stone to rise. Bringer of Stone obliged and assisted Dead Eyes’ ascension. Sharp Beak, with a face full of victory, brushed off his legs and was prepared to sit on the log with his comrades. However, the boney hand of Dead Eyes touched Sharp Beak. As pale as the moon, the hand seemed to dig through Sharp Beak’s skin and bone—touching his mind and soul. Sharp Beak fell to his knees, his eyes wide with horror. He clung tightly to Dead Eyes’s boney hand—desperately trying to pry it free. However, Dead Eyes continued to look at Sharp Beak passively, as though Dead Eyes was simply lost in thought. Then, Sharp Beak screamed—startling the warriors as well as the camp. Warriors from different fires came to aid but stood in awe as they watched Dead Eyes. No one intervened, not even the captain who eventually arrived. Finally, Dead Eyes removed his hand, and hobbled back to the log. Soft Feathers and Bringer of Stone eased him down on the log.

The captain signaled his men to return to their posts. Then, he approached Sharp Beak who was still silently shaking.

“He has seen what others care not. He has seen what others dare not. A warrior he is. Rest, young one, you received a gift this evening.”

With that, the captain walked away. The fires would continue to lightly glow. Darkness would endure until it could not. Then, the light would signal the dawn of battle.

Comprehension Questions for The Gifts of the Warriors

Questions on Show vs Tell for The Gifts of the Warriors