Blissful Mornings - The Dog and the Arrow

The morning after the gathering, the swaddle cottage was quiet again.

The offerings remained at the center—a frangipani, a thread of horsehair, and a cloth with a

sunburst. No one had moved them.

And the child, though she hadn’t been invited to the circle, felt what had happened. The air

carried it. The blankets carried it. She woke with a sense of being seen.

But today, the weight was lighter.

She tied her hair with a loose piece of string and stepped outside barefoot, not toward the

sea or the loom, but toward the path that curved past the guava trees.

Then came the sound—a joyful bark, followed by the sight of a scruffy brown dog charging

down the path with something clamped in his mouth.

She giggled as he approached, tail wagging, tongue flopping. His eyes sparkled like he had

discovered treasure.

She knelt down to greet him, and he dropped his prize at her feet: a thick stick… pointed at

one end.

It looked exactly like an arrow.

She stared at it, wide-eyed. Then looked at the dog. “Where did you find this?”

He barked once, then ran in a circle, proud as ever.

Before she could chase after him, a boy’s voice called out in accented Tagalog: “Ah—there

you are, silly dog!”

She turned quickly.

A boy stood at the bend in the path. Light hair. Familiar eyes.

For a second, her heart paused. Philippe?

But no. This boy was younger. Wearing a pressed white shirt and sandals

too new for island dust.

He saw her and smiled politely. “Sorry… he always brings back strange things. We just

arrived this morning.”

She nodded slowly. “You’re visiting?”

He nodded. “My father’s meeting the island governor.” Then he paused, glancing at the stick

between them. “Funny… that looks like an arrow, doesn’t it?”

She looked at the stick again. Smiled quietly. “Yes… or maybe a sign.”

They both laughed softly.

The dog ran in circles again. The breeze passed gently overhead.

She didn’t ask the boy his name. Not yet. She just looked at him, wondering if dreams

sometimes walked for a while in someone else’s face.

-Bliss Chains Authors