Some seek glory in bright deeds;
He sets eyes upon the quiet good,
the small acts that pass unmarked
yet hold the world together.
Among them we have marked Isaac of Malagentia,
whose hands are never idle
and whose path bends always
toward where the need is greatest.
When thirst stalks the field,
he bears water without fanfare,
cup after cup,
as steady as breath.
When hearth-fires call,
he works the kitchens,
hands invigorated with service,
asking no praise beyond the work done well.
We have seen him run swift as any shadow,
errands for merchants,
messages borne true,
small tasks that stitch a market whole.
We have seen him sit patient and intent,
stringing site tokens,
thread by careful thread,
so order may bloom from cloth and cord.
And when the day darkened—
when a child was lost,
fear skittering like mice in tall grass—
Isaac did not look away.
He searched, he called, he stayed,
until small hands were found
and hope returned to its place.
Such folk do not boast.
They do not linger in the light.
They are the quiet center of the camp,
the sure footing beneath many feet.
So do we, Donovan and Megha, King and Padshaw Begum, set these words down,
as a scholar sets down truth,
to name Isaac a Tyger’s Cub
a helper of all at a Market Day at Birka, A.S. LX ,
whose service binds our Dream together,
one small kindness at a time.
Meddlings of the Minnesinger 