“Oh, my little Prince....how handsome you will be”....the words every loving mother speaks to their child at some time in their lives, this scene of a young boy in the arms of his mother repeated across the lands since history began.
Here he could feel the warmth and care expressed in her embrace...though he was seven summers of age in height his mother still had the ability to envelop him almost completely with her hugs and kisses...he giggled and wriggled in her arms trying to escape her grasp. Only to be tickled until he screamed with laughter as he stamped his feet in some vain attempt to make the tickles less effective......
His father closed the door as the house guest left before looking on quietly at his wife and son...A quietness about him as he noted every detail of the moment. The fire crackled as it burnt the last of the moisture away from the wood...he had been so busy with the boy he had let the firewood stock run low...he made a mental note to cut fresh supplies as the flames painted the shadows that danced about the room.
Hanging over the flames A cooking pot bubbled away gently....the delicious aroma of rabbit broth emanating from it.
A new candle lit the large wooden table that was prepared and waiting silently, three bowls and cut bread placed neatly before the three chairs.
The assortments of jackets, coats and hats hanging beside the door were motionless....except for one that waved its arm gently...caught in a draught it’s movement seemed comical to him.
Outside the carriage door of their visitor closed with a dull thud as the horses sprung into motion...the crack of a whip preceded the noise of eight hooves stamping into the frozen winter soil....the thunder of hooves became quieter as they raced off allowing the silence outside to return.
He could see the exertions of his wife had exhausted her as she looked across to him....her sorrow was evident to them both as he spoke....
“come now, it’s time to eat”...picking up the ladle he dipped it in and stirred it for a moment before taking a sip...”yes, it’s perfect, get your bowl lad”
He watched his wife and son share a long cheek to cheek hug before reluctantly ruffling his hair.....”Go and help your father now.....I need to rest a little”. Obediently he did as he was asked and took his bowl to his father.
The hot meal would warm him against the harsh winter that was settling in the vale around them, he knew that his bed would be cold when he first jumped into it, but he had thick furs to warm him once under them .....He sat alone at the table sipping his spoon and taking small bites of bread.. looking across to his father beside the fire, silently stirring the ladle in the broth.
“Get yourself off to bed when you are done....it’s an early start tomorrow and I need you to feed the chickens” His father was always reminding him of his chores he thought as he ran to his bed and disappeared under the covers, he huddled into a ball shivering for several moments until the warmth of the furs pulled him into his dreams.
This was just another normal evening to the child, nothing out of place to remind him of this particular time in his life.....
Yet this is the elusive memory Mugendo constantly searches for.....The last embrace he shared with his mother.
