Wisdom

He had done this every day since her death. Her portrait stood at the head of the table, the warm smile shining over the multitude of traditional dishes he had prepared. He then lit the tried and true candles and bowed in commemoration with his son. But from his repeated ceremonies, the candle holder had become chipped and unbalanced. The candle toppled from its throne, and the fire spread rapidly, eager to escape its confines. It consumed the house; the historical pieces and ceremonial dishes. As the fire roared and crackled and razed, the smiling portrait of his late wife surveyed with soulless eyes: the destruction of her home, the escape of her husband, and the death of her son. 

Gray, phantom wisps emanated from the ruins. As the golden eye of the sun peeked over the east and slowly sauntered across the sky, the two stern-faced brothers trudged up and down the hill, carrying faintly ashen relics. 

The dog, usually cheerful, exuded a strange air that day. Its tail spiked with distrust and its mouth twitched with agitation. The brothers tried to coax it down the mountain, to no avail. Hence they carried on with other items. 

As the Sun’s eye grew drowsy and neared the western horizon, the brothers trudged up the hill and found no salvage but the dog. It still sat tense and aggravated. The two young men cooed and crowed, yelled and snapped, clapped and—sighed. As the pale blade of the moon sharpened in the sky, the brothers saw no option but to levy force. So they pushed and pulled, tugged and heaved, and—almost struck—for there was no other way. The dog remained stoic, growling and gnashing at every movement.

After a long day of labor, the brothers just wanted to go home. As a last resort, the younger of the two, Jo, went to search for a suitable stick to beat the dog into submission. 

The brothers’ father came upon the search and admonished them against their violent proposal. Without a sound he reached down and grabbed the dog’s worn leash. The dog snapped at his hand but barely missed, grazing it with its lips.

He then took one cautious step towards the foot of the hill, just enough for the leash to go taut. The dog growled, but found no response back. He had turned his back on the dog and looked out onto the dark, twisted pine trees yonder. He whistled, not acknowledging the dog’s growls or barks, only gripping the leash tightly. 

Eventually, the dog went silent, and took a small step forward, just enough for the leash to slack. This the brothers’ father acknowledged, and he took another step forward, just enough for the leash to go taut. The dog snarled for a moment, then went silent and took another step. This continued for, what seemed to the brothers, an eternity. Step, taut, growl, slack. Step, taut, growl, slack. But, as the moon reached the uppermost ceiling of the sky, the brothers and the dog found themselves at the bottom of the hill. 

Although frustrated at the seemingly needless amount of time it had taken, the younger brother took his old man’s actions to heart. Jo vowed to quell his rash nature.