A short story by
Charles de Lint
Copyright 2007 by Charles de Lint
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- 1. -
Yellow Dog has lived in the desert for so long that he’s forgotten how to use words—the shape and taste of them, and how they can be thrown into the air and caught by another’s ear. But he knows he needs them, because there’s a story he has to tell. It isn’t his story, but the seed of it fell onto him last night while he was listening to music coming down from a ridge above him. It might have been someone playing a flute, it might have been the wind, but that story came riding the music and slipped inside him, worrying its way under his skin, and now he’s swollen with the need to get it out.
Ramona once told him that words are just the bones of a story. The heart of what’s being told lies in between the lines, where you can’t see it. You can only feel it. But if you can connect to it, if you feel it just right, for that small piece of time your hearts can beat as one, and how often does that happen in anyone’s life?