The Sparrow and the Mage
One day, as an old mage was walking through the woods, he happened upon a
tiny sparrow lying in the path. Bending down to look closely over her, he could see that
her feathers were caked with mud and debris, and that both of her wings had been
broken. They looked, in fact, as though they had been crushed under the boots of
someone either careless or malicious, or perhaps both.
Ahead of him on the path was a hunter, who noticed the mage and stopped to see
what he had been looking at. Noticing the bird, he called out "it is as good as dead, Sir,
you had best leave it be. Wild creatures can be dangerous when they are dying."
The mage thanked the hunter, then watched as he turned and continued along the
path. When he was alone, he turned back to the tiny bird, reached out, and gently stroked
a fingertip over her head.
The sparrow flinched and quivered in fear, watching the mage carefully, as if
expecting blows to rain down instead of a gentle touch. The mage sighed softly, and
made certain all of his movements were as slow and gentle as he could make them as he
lifted the sparrow into his palm and stood.
"I will not harm you," he whispered to the shivering creature, as he slowly walked
the path to his home, careful not to jostle her. He watched her wide, fearful eyes as they
gazed upon him, and he couldn't' help but wonder what had terrified and hurt this
creature so.
When he reached his home, the mage carefully washed the mud from the little
sparrow's feathers. As he rinsed her with cool, clear water, her remarkable plumage was
revealed. It fairly glistened in the sunlight, the rich hues of emerald green and ruby red
crowning her head. Yet, when the little bird would duck into a shadow, he noticed that
her feathers became simple and nondescript.
The mage assembled his wares, and cast over the little sparrow, healing her wings
with careful words and loving strokes of his fingertips. Though she was still clearly
frightened, He thought she seemed pleased as she shyly fluttered her wings and cooed at
him.
The next morning, the mage took the sparrow to a grove near his home, where he
left her to the care of his friends among the other wild creatures. He was reluctant to
leave the little bird behind, but his visions had told him that he was dying, and as much as
he longed to keep the sparrow himself, he thought it would be unfair to her. Sadly, the
mage returned to his quiet cottage to await his end.
The sparrow liked the grove where the mage had left her, but her shyness kept her
in the shadowy depths of the trees, where she quietly watched the other creatures romp
and play. She longed to be like them, but she longed even more for the company of the
old mage who had rescued her.
One day, as she sat curled high in the branches of a large oak, she spied a familiar
face below. Fluttering down, she saw that it was her mage. Excited to see him, the song
in her heart burst forth, astounding all who had never heard a peep from the sparrow
before.
The mage smiled and beckoned to her. She nervously flitted out into the sunlight
to land safely on his shoulder, her feathers shining in the sunlight. the two of them spent
the afternoon walking through the grove together, the mage talking quietly, and the little
sparrow singing and chattering in reply.
As the sun began to set, the mage returned the sparrow to her tree. Sighing with
regret, and telling her to make a happy life for herself, he slipped out of the grove. The
sparrow watched the mage leave, her heart breaking with every step he took away from
her. To be certain she could find him again, the little bird followed the mage through the
woods to his cottage, and sat watching him throughout the night.
The sparrow kept watch over the mage in his cottage every day as he went about
his life. Often, she kept to the shadows, but on days she was feeling bolder, she would
sing quietly to him, her heart filled with pain and longing, but her songs filled with joy to
try to please him.
Inside his cottage, the mage watched the little sparrow with dismay. there was no
brighter moment in his day than when he would catch a glimpse of her fluttering wings,
or hear a snippet of her song, but he was afraid she would grow too attached to him,
perhaps even dependent. As his impending death drew closer, he wondered what she
would do when he was no longer there.
With much regret, he summoned a stern voice and shooed the little sparrow back
into the grove many times. This broke her heart anew each time, and she couldn't'
understand why the mage didn't' want her near. Se groomed her feathers til they gleamed
and practiced her songs til her voice could bear no more in hopes that one day he would
allow her to return to his cottage.
Alone in his cottage, the mage began to realize how much her morning song had
warmed his heart, and how accustomed he had grown to catching the flutter of her
feathers out of the corner of his eye. Now and then he would steal back into the grove to
watch her, sometimes disguised as other creatures of the wood so that she would not
recognize him. He watched her preen and sing, not even aware that it was all in hopes of
his return.
Slowly, the little sparrow began to regain her confidence, seeing the grove as a
safe place to be. Although she still kept mostly to the shadows, on some days she would
proudly let a snippet of song free to the wind for others to hear, or would flit into the
sunlight for a moment, startling those around her with the brilliance of her feathers.
Word began to circulate in the village that there was a strange new creature in the
grove, and many came to see the little sparrow, chasing her from tree to tree in an
attempt to force her into the light. Some bellowed at her in loud angry voices, ordering
her to sing. Others brought nets and snares to try to trap the little creature. the most
cunning, however, spoke quietly to her, trying to gain her confidence with talk of gilded
cages and safety from hunters.
Confused and frightened, the sparrow fled the grove one night to seek her mage's
cottage again, willing to test his anger for a moment alone with him. She found him
sitting alone on the steps outside his home in the darkness. She fluttered down beside
him, singing out her tale of pain and distress as he sat and quietly listened.
His heart ached at the thought of this untamed creature being trapped for all her
days inside the bars of a cage, however gilded. Still, he knew she could not return to the
grove, or the hunters there would surely capture her.
As he had done the night he found her, the mage gently took the sparrow in his
hands and softly stroked her feathers. Slowly she began to calm, and though there was
still a hint of fear in her eyes, she ceased her trembling and no longer flinched at his
touch.
Softly, he spoke to her, promising to care for and protect her, if she wished to be
his, and cast her lot in with a dying old mage. He opened the door to his cottage, and
looked at the sparrow, wondering if she would choose a dusty cottage or flit back to the
promise of gilded cages.
Tentatively, the sparrow spread her wings and glided inside, settling herself
beside the hearth that had warmed her that fist night. Following her in, the mage stopped
in the doorway with a sharp intake of breath. He blinked to be certain that he was seeing
what he thought he was... the sparrows feathers were ablaze with color, even in the
dimness of the cottage's interior. A blaze leapt to life in the hearth and the air shimmered
slightly.
Now it was the old mage who quivered a bit as a soft voice spoke in the stillness
of the room, whispering "She always belonged to you. You only had to open your heart
to her to unleash her gifts."
The mage spun around to see where the voice was coming from, but the cottage
was empty behind him. Turning back to the sparrow, his eyes widened in awe, for her
emerald feathers were reflected in flashing green eyes, the crimson crown in the long,
fire-like curls cascading down the back of a young woman who stood in the sparrows
place.
Silently, she reached out her hands to him, her smooth, white, vulnerable palms
up. As the mage wrapped her hands in his strong ones, he felt a rush of joy in his heart as
he had never known before. Turning to the reflection of the two of them in the mirror
over the hearth, he no longer saw a tired old man nearing his end. Instead, standing
beside this girl was a strong youth with love in his eyes, and ahead of the couple, the
reflection showed not a cottage, but the head of a path; this one led not to the village or
the grove, but to the stars, and could only be walked by holding her hands in his own.