Legend CVIII – The Mouse Who Held the Path

More about Legend CVIII – The Mouse Who Held the Path

In a forest that in springtime held more colors than there were names for them, a cat trotted through the tall grass, large, reddish-gold, and attentive, as if she had learned not to hunt the world, but to read it. On her back sat a small mouse with a much too large backpack, its buckles clinking softly with each step. The mouse held a green leash in her paws, not to steer, but to stay connected. Her name was Elio, and though small, she possessed a determination greater than the forest itself. The cat's name was Maresca, and she walked this path not because she had to, but because she understood that some journeys are not about arriving, but about being accompanied. Elio had not always been on the move. Once, he had lived in a hollow tree, among maps made of bark and notes of leaves, collecting paths that no one else had taken. He believed that paths vanished when no one remembered them, and that someone had to walk them for them to remain. When he met Maresca, she didn't devour him, not even sniff him. She sat and waited, and that waiting had been an invitation. Since then, they had traveled together, slowly, attentively, without a destination in the conventional sense. Butterflies accompanied them for a while, flowers opened as if listening, and even the wind seemed to make way for them. Elio told Maresca about the paths he was searching for, about crossroads that became lost when no one used them, and about clearings that had forgotten their purpose. Maresca listened, not just with her ears, but with her footsteps. She knew when Elio was afraid even before he felt it, and then she slowed down without being asked. The leash between them was never taut. It was a reminder that closeness doesn't require pulling. Sometimes Elio wondered which of them was actually leading, but the question faded as they walked further. One day they reached a place where the forest fell silent. No birds sang, no insects buzzed. The path split into many narrow tracks, all ending at once. Elio sensed that this was one of those places he had been searching for, a knot of possibilities that had forgotten itself. He climbed off Maresca's back, set down his backpack, and began to place small markers of leaves and seeds, not to define the path, but to remember it. Maresca sat beside him, motionless, watchful, and her silence kept the space open. When Elio finished, a gentle breeze rustled through the clearing, and the paths began to rearrange themselves, invisibly, but palpably. As they continued on, the forest was once again filled with voices. Elio climbed back onto Maresca's back, and she set off as if nothing had happened. But something had changed. The path behind them remained.