Master John Pamper Me Gently

It was a bleak stormy night.

There had been rain-battered wooden walls surrounding Eli's cottage while thunder rolled overhead like the voice of raging gods. The old windmill groaned in the wind; the trees bowed as if in worship or in fear. Eli sat on the edge of his little bed, heart restless, feet bare. The oil lamp flickered beside him.

Then came the fire.

It began with a smell-a smoke and something sweet that was burning cedar. Eli rushed out, rain lashing at his face, wind snapping at the thin tunic he was wearing. There at the forest edge of the valley, where it is usually dark and quiet, glowed red-orange. Fire. And at the center of it-all of it was something else-something alive.

Eli ran on impulse, without boots, his breath sharp in his chest. Each step carried him nearer to the crackling heat, to the scent of destruction. But it was not destruction he found.

It was him.

There knelt a man at the middle of the flames, all naked and unburned. His back faced Eli: broad and tense, hair dark and damp with rain. Smoke curled around his skin, like a lover's fingers. When he turned, it was slowly, as if he knew that Eli was coming, and Eli saw that his eyes glowed red like embers of a dying star.

Not orange. Not human.

Red. Like a warning.

Eli stumbled. "What are you...?"

The lips of the man parted. "You shouldn't be here."

It was a low voice, rough like gravel but with something silken underneath it. Contradiction, as he was. Like the fire that refused to consume.

"I saw the fire," Eli said, taking a step forward. "You-how are you alive? How are you-"

"Burning?" The man was now fully standing before him-tall and powerful. "Because I am the fire."

Eli's breath caught.

The stranger walked toward him, but slowly, like he was parting the flames as he went. His bare feet kissed the dew-laden grass, steam hissing underneath his steps.

"I won't hurt you," he added, "unless you want me to."

That made Eli take a step back, not out of fear-not entirely so. There was something magnetic about him, something dangerous, yes, but also beautiful. Like the first electric lightning just on that day when you feel its first kiss across your bones.

"Who are you?" Eli inquired.

"I don't remember," he said. "Not entirely."

The rain stopped. Just like that. As if time held its breath for them.

"I woke up here," he said. "In the fire. And then I felt you coming." He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. "Your heart. It's loud."

Eli's pulse raced.

"I had better go," Eli said quickly, aware suddenly of the absurdity of this moment-standing among the soaked leaves, speaking to a stranger who had arrived hot from the flames.

But the man took another step forward. "Don't."

"Why?"

The man regarded him for a moment, then said softly, "Because I haven't seen a soul in such a long time. And I'm cold."

"Cold? But you're-"