Many years ago, when the land was wild and the rule of a King extended no further than he could see, there lived a man. This man lived alone, a hermit outcast by his people. He lived deep in the woods, in a cabin he crafted by his own hand. The cabin leaked, and was drafty in winter, but he built it himself, and for that he loved it.

But the man was lonely. He had no wife to cook for him, and he had no children to gather at his feet and hear his stories. He had the birds, with their pretty songs. But birds cannot cook, or clean. He had squirrels and deer, but squirrels do not gather and deer are poor listeners.

One day, a blind beggar was walking on the path near the hermit's cabin. The hermit, by now mad from lonliness, cackled and approached the man.

"Here, now, stranger! Where ye be heading? To sweet Benvel, land of gold and jewels, or to Dalnari, where the bread is warm, and the women are as sweet as honey?"

The blind man turned to the hermit, a tattered rag covering his eyes.

"I am heading nowhere, father. For I have not the eyes to enjoy the sight of a beautiful maiden, nor the skills to work jewels. And so I am walking. The sky is my roof, and my feet know the path."

The hermit giggled and took the blind man's arm in his hand.

"Come! Come! Come stay with me in my cabin! It is drafty, and leaks, but I have brought what skills I have to bear on it. I have food, and water, and a bed for you for as long as you like."

Tears leaked from the blind man's eyes.

"Thank you, father. It has been long since I have heard the kind words of another." He allowed the hermit to lead him into the woods, trusting the man inherently. After a spell, they arrived at the hermit's cabin.

"Here! Here is my home! You might not be able to see it, but I assure you we are here," The hermit crowed. The blind man took several steps forward, one hand outstretched. He grasped the firm wood of the cabin. The hermit did not lie; it was imperfect, and had gaps. But it was strong, and sturdy. A dwelling built to last.

"You have not lied, father. This is surely a home built to last." The hermit nodded excitedly, pleased to have another to share his home with.

"Come! Come! Have food, and water! Be warm, and rest your feet!" The hermit hurried the blind man inside, siting him down and pressing a mug of cool, clean water into his hand. "Drink! Drink," he urged.

The blind man drank. And as he drank, he felt the pain of his feet fade. His once sore legs were refreshed, and his once week bones felt firm, and strong enough to fight.

"Father," the blind man gasped. "Tell me, where did you find this water? It refreshes me, and makes me feel as a young man again."

"Yes, yes! From the spring it comes! Down the mountain when the weather warms! Down from heaven itself!" The hermit laughed his dry, broken laugh. "It heals, and keeps us alive!"

"But surely," the blind man asked, "If you were to sell this, you could be rich! A god among men!"

"Pah!" Scoffed the hermit. "What need have I for gold? The animals provide me food. My cabin gives me a home. Now that you are here, I have company, and all that I need."

The blind man could not help but bow to his wisdom. He drank more, and as he did, his body renewed. Scars from the unforgiving boot of a soldier vanished. His little finger, once crushed by a wagon cart, straightened, and was whole once more. The blind man drank, and drank, and drank. And then, as he finished yet another mug, something wonderful happened. As the blind man looked through his rag, a small light shone through.

"No. Surely this cannot be," The blind man whispered. He drank again, and the pinpoint of light became a dull grey glow.
Finally, the glow burst into glorious light, and the once blind man could see again. He gazed around in wonder, tears filing his now functioning eyes.

"God above!" The man cried. "This is truly the most beautiful cabin I've ever laid eyes on!" The hermit cackled.
"Thank you! I'm rather fond of it myself!"

The man fell to the ground at the hermit's feet, kissing his worn shoes, and sobbing tears of joy.

"Father, I would follow you to the ends of the earth! Teach me, that I may learn! Help my mind to see as well as my eyes now can!"
The hermit laughed and scoffed once more.

"I am but a hermit. What can I teach you that you do not already know?"

"Whatever knowledge you have," the man begged. "Surely you are wise, to be so fulfilled with so little!"

"Yes, yes," The hermit said, nodding along. "There is truth to what you say. I will tell you of my life, and of how I am who I am."
And so, for five days and five nights, the hermit spoke. And for five days and five nights, the man listened at his feet. On the sixth day, when the hermit had no more to tell, he laid on his bed.

"You now know of my stories," the hermit said, tired. "Now that you know of my life, and of why I Am, I would ask you one thing."
"Anything, father. Ask of me what you will."

"Go. Go forth from this place, and tell others, that they may Be as well." He handed the man a jug of water. "Bring this. Show them the wonders that our world holds, and open their eyes to the beauty around us, as your own eyes were opened."

And, having told his stories, and having a charge to tell others, the man closed his eyes one last time and faded into the world.