Simply Saturday: A Chapter Summary of The Butterfly Fields

Alone in the fortress, the dampness of the stones seep into the bones. The whole of the world lies just beyond the window ledge, yet my flesh cannot carry the bones away from this dreadful place.

The whole of the world. The very thing which has brought me asunder into this dwelling of darkness. Oh that I had not followed that which was not mine to have. Oh that all the times and occasions of life had not lead me down this trecherous path. Yet, here am I...alone.

The world carries on as though there were no gardens of regret planted on every hill and in every dale along the roadside. It carries on as though the Baal fires had never once burned upon the hillsides...as though the frenzied dances had never occured. How is it the world knows not of the misfortune lying in wait for those who have traveled this road into the abyss of nothingness?

Sleep shall not come to those who have traveled to the road's end. There is naught in the world but a endless writhing in pain and anguish...dreaming in the wake of a light that shines in the far off distance. This light with neither source nor end. Oh had I only stayed as she had begged with me all those years ago. Had my heart not been consumed with selfish desires, the Butterfly Fields would not lie in ruin. She would not be held captive in the arms of he who has imprisoned her in that which is not love, but deceit.

Her tender flesh would not be encased in the iciness of the longing for that which has not been seen in the lowlands for many a year. A longing for that which has not been seen since I had taken my leave, nay, since my abandonment. She reigns her lands with a heart of stone, as is common in the lowlands. She reigns without compassion...without mercy. Her loyal subjects, such as they are, carry out her wishes without question. They fear he who has captured her heart, and rules her mind.

What is this I have done? Is there naught that I can do to turn back the hands of time to the place where my journey had begun? If only the creek which leads to home would flow with laughter as it had when games and adventure were afoot. If only the Great River would feed the fields of grain as it had in the days of Seanmhathair's youth. If only the canyons would release the wild game which once roamed upon the rocky hills. If only...if only the Butterfly Fields were once again filled with the light and laughter of our days as children. What? What is this thing I have wrought upon the land, the village of my clan? Can they ever forgive me? Can I ever forgive myself? Nay, there is no forgiveness...from them, or from me.

As I have done, so too has been done unto me. My family has abandoned me. Left me to wander alone in the darkness, no longer welcome at the fires of Baal...no longer welcome in the circle. My clan has turned their faces away. They no longer recognize my visage. They no longer desire to engage in my conversation. They rightfully lay the blame for all that has been wrought upon them at the feet of the betrayer; at my feet.

The only hope for redemption lies in the center of the village, within the walls of the Daoine Realta. There is no way to find the path which leads to redemption. There is no one to lead the way through the wilderness. My only comfort comes from he who has stood by me from the beginning of this journey, the one who bears the wisdom to see that which cannot be seen. His daily knock upon my fortress door brings a comfort I have ne'er known. He speaks words of wisdom as though somehow he has discerned the very wisdom of the Daoine Realta; as though he has entered the walls and reaped all there is to glean from such a place.

I know not how this can be. There has ne'er been a single na hÉirean allowed beyond the gates of the Daoine Realta walls. He has not even the slightest likeness to that of a na hÉirean. When has it been he would have had chance for such an oppotunity. Nay, he is but a learned man with much wisdom and nothing more than this. How could it be more? There is naught in this world that has not been destined to occur. I have ne'er seen such a contenance such as his within the village. Yet, he bears a familiarity. Something or someone I should recall. There is naught to be done now, but to wither into the nothingness which I have become, only with the comforting words of one such as he. At the end of it all for me, there is naught to anticipate but the earth which shall cover the flesh and bones of this shell, the soul long departed.