Within a large timber frame, wrapped in sheets of galvanized steel, a rhythm is heard. A rhythm that echoes the warm rain that trickles and blisters down the garage's metal casing and solitary window pane. Outside lies a waiting world that was once so foreign, and in many ways, still is. Inside, the master wipes his brow. A brow that maps the many gorges, valleys and clear rivers of the past. Rivers that had begun as still and smooth streams, had now, over time, become vast oceans. Thundering with currents of sweat and wisdom.
The master focuses on the boy. Tap. Tap. Tap. The boy can hear the thunder. With teeth and eyes clenched, does not see it, but every fiber within him knows it is there. Again, Tap. Tap. Tap. The lightning shoots up his leg and into his heart, making it stronger. Making it wiser.
Familiar faces sit around him, whose song begins to fill his ears, a comforting song heard many times before, and never before. The master continues, crafting the map that will guide the boy through the rough and stormy seas that exist all around them, that exist on the horizon. The master is mapping a safe passage for the boy to guide his people home.
Out on the sea, lightning hits the boy's back. Tap. Tap. Tap. He is thrown overboard, sinking into the dark, away from his people, and away from his future.
But his people's song begins to grow louder. Grow clearer.
Lifting him out of the dark water and bringing him back to his people. Drowning out the thunder and blocking out the lightning.
His head pierces the surface and inhales brand new air. His very first breath.
Quiet weather and faces greet him warmly, thankful that he has returned, and yet not returned.
He is different. Changed.
The song is no longer sung, but he can still hear it. Echoing. Resonating inside him.
With a galvanized steel world all around him, he is a strong wooden frame that will hold his people safely within.
His map is now complete.
The man knows the way home.
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