Edit: The regional Reflections contest is over. I didn't move on, but here's the story:
His coming had been heralded through the streets, so that when he reached the city's entrance, children were already scrambling to be the first to greet him. Boisterously they surrounded him with admiration and eagerness glinting in their eyes; he laughed heartily, a deep and joyous sound, as they chattered, running and jumping around him as he walked. Some of the youth were shier and more timid, and they lingered near doorways or peered at him from shadows and corners. These he smiled at as well. They eyed his dark skin and exotic Eastern ivory robes with wonder.
Alahn was his name, but few called him that; here, he was known as the Traveler. He greeted the adults he passed. To them, his visits were a welcome break in the bleary monotony of day-to-day life. His tales brought them hope when the air began to chill, and made them anxious to travel the world as he did.
This day, he came in the morning, when dew still lingered on flowers and the dirt roads still felt cold beneath his feet. But having heard of their special visitor, all the children were already awake.
At last the Traveler came to a stop in front of a large adobe building, white and simplistic: the Council Hall. The town patriarch, Jamil, was waiting for him there.
“We welcome you, Traveler Alahn!” said the patriarch in his frail but emphatic voice. “It is good to have you return so soon.”
The Traveler's eyes shone as he stepped forward to shake the patriarch's hand. “Thank you, Jamil,” he said warmly, his tone melodious and thickly accented.
Jamil stepped aside and gestured into the doorway. The Traveler smiled and nodded at him, then walked forward into the room, the children still at his heels.
Sunlight filtered in from the doorway and several large windows, illuminating the ornate rugs and cushions that had— at a moment’s notice— been laid out specially for this occasion. The Traveler took his place near the front of the room in a hand-carved, padded chair. Villagers (his audience) filtered in, sitting on the pillows. At last, Jamil entered with a smile.
An expectant silence descended, awaiting the words that would soon fall to fill it. This was what he had come for. What he had always come for. The Traveler paused for a moment to gather his thoughts... and then, he began.
“This is not one of my usual tales of exotic creatures or heroes in faraway lands,” he admitted. “There is no adventure or thrill to be had from it. But still I tell it to you today, for I think its worth is far above such things.
“When I first embarked on my journey here,” said the Traveler, “I did not know what tale I would tell you. I had many ideas, but none of them felt right. Still I decided to come, hoping I could decide before I arrived.”
He stopped for a breath. Already they were spellbound, leaning close to hear his story. And so he continued, letting his voice rise and fall with the words, using his hands in sweeping gestures.
“I passed through a large city called Hasan whose cobblestone streets were kept clean and even. All of its inhabitants wore the finest clothing, and their homes were spacious. In the center of Hasan was a palace: huge, majestic, white and golden. It was made from refined stones and the most precious of metals. Its walls held a pearly sheen, glimmering under the sun's delicate touch. The king invited me to tell him of my voyages, and when I entered his palace I noticed how clean it was. Everything was immaculate. Magnificent portraits and paintings lined its halls, as did extravagant sculptures and stained glass windows. Everything inside seemed to be a work of the finest craftsmanship and architectural design, and its exterior flaunted arrays of foreign plants with delicate flowers and delicious, soothing aromas.
“But the monarch and his family were cruel to one another, and to the servants. They spoke harsh words full of anger and hate. The palace walls were tainted with their cruelty, and no longer could I see the palace's majesty. All that remained was the darkness of their hearts, overshadowing all the statues and gardens and carpets.
“I left Hasan, troubled by what I had seen. I came closer to your village. I passed through a small place called Eder, whose lifestyles were impacted dramatically by the lavish spending I'd seen in Hasan. Their roads were ill-maintained, choked with soot and dirt. The place felt arid, worn, and weathered. Buildings were crumbling and falling into disrepair. But somehow the villagers of Eder still lived in them— for that was all they had. The people and their ragged clothing were dirty. And yet... the children still laughed and played. A craftsman worked in front of his house while singing to himself, skillfully carving an intricate design into a block of wood. At his side, a boy labored over his own block with meticulous precision. The adults were welcoming and generous to me, though I knew they had little to share. They smiled and greeted one another with genuine warmth and kindness. They inquired after one another's welfare. And above all, I could see their happiness in their eyes.
“In Hasan, I had lost my ability to appreciate its splendor. But in Eder, surrounded by such loving people, exactly the opposite happened: the sparse, half-wilted flowers I saw there seemed more vibrant and plentiful than those in Hasan. I felt safer there. And the carver's work became in my eyes more elaborate, more wonderful than any marble sculpture I had seen in the palace.”
The Traveler leaned closer. “The people of Hasan were trapped, even in their extravagance and wealth. They were enslaved by their own hatred, their cold words and actions incarcerating them and holding them fast. Eder's villagers, though with little means, seemed to have endless opportunities to share their talents and find the wisdom and blessings of simple things. Their love enhanced everything around them.
“It was beautiful,” whispered the Traveler, “because the people were free.”
He paused again. The people were quiet, but thoughtful.
“This is the tale I have come to tell you. Please, think on my words, and remember them always.”
With that conclusion, the villagers applauded him, and the Traveler stood to shake their hands. He wished he could stay longer among them, but his calling summoned him elsewhere. Others needed to hear this as well.
As he left the Council Hall, the children still dogged his footsteps, asking him questions about the myriad places he’d been. The Traveler answered them all, the tone in his voice indicating his own wonder at the miracles of the world. He watched the villagers as he walked and spoke, trying to discern any difference in their bearing. One child eyed a patch of flowers with new eyes, perhaps better appreciating what she had. After a moment, she chose one, plucking it up and running to her mother, whom she passed the treasure to with a wide smile. Overall, the atmosphere seemed... gentler as the villagers chatted amiably. The Traveler nodded slowly to himself.
These were good people. But as he walked alone through the city gates, wearing a faint smile at the thought of the travels ahead of him, he hoped he had shown them something more.
