On the brow of the hill

I saw him on the brow of the hill.
He was as unfamiliar as my direction,
but he interested me more than most,
with his wide hat, long coat and darkened features.
I hadn't walked far up until that moment,
though I realised this only on looking back,
observing mere metres.

Onwards, on and on, now close to me, he moved forwards,
and I, I, hesitated, kicking my feet with uncertainty.
For I thought I had conquered fear until then, sitting within stoned walls of silence and books.
The gates were up then, the moats awash with crocs and shark, and aloft on my throne I viewed myself so advanced.

But the man, there, just over there, I had seen him from my ivory towers - he stirred me.
He told me how little I knew, with his approach.
Forcing me out of the castle to see, I had had to find keys and pull open doors stuck fast, and his selfish stride just kept on.

It was at that second I witnessed a message attached to the arm of the stranger,
it was rolled up and half an arm's length long.
'What could he possibly have to tell me?', I thought.

I stopped. Waited. Went deep inside. Searched for the pages from books I had read, yet found them empty and redundant when found.

His pace did not alter, methodical in its rhythm. I slowed to a chunter, juddering and jaded.

Rigor mortis before reading.

Nothing was said but the message pushed to the stiffened frame.
Eyes wide, mouth open, I searched for something that wasn't there on both sides of thick blank paper.
The man was gone but the message remained.