The misery in the small house had since their friends had left only quintupled. Upset with one another, just as they were with those who had left them behind, and with the Elves who acted as caretakers for the two of them.

  Trygve and Wulfnoth had by the time they were able to wander through and explore through the village that had so enchanted Cormac and Daegan. The difference between those two and even Corin, and Trygve was that he derived little satisfaction or pleasure in living in the village of the Elves for a full week.

  Graceful and dignified in all that they did, they were so utterly inhuman in all that they endeavoured and in every movement that Trygve could hardly bring himself to love them.

  This was not to say that he did not like or respect them. But love and like are two very different things, as he soon discovered, deciding in his mind to upon his departure, never again return to the lands of the Wilder-Elves.

  “Trygve of Glasvhail, have you considered joining us upon a hunt?” Some of the men would ask him, with their small smiles that hardly went up to their eyes. At other times they would ask of him, “Why will you not join us out on the lake, we could use an extra hand in the gathering of fish, in preparation for the winter.”

  Some of the women also invited him to join them on their own hunts or swims; this latter activity was said with such humour and in such a manner as to make him feel shy. He did not much care to remain alone with the pretty Elf-maids after this particular request. What later troubled him, was that one of those ‘Elf-maidens’ that had asked him to join her for a swim, was as he later discovered one of the oldest of the tribe.

  “They are nothing like us,” He complained eventually to Wulfnoth.

  “Aye, though tush on that matter,” the druid told him as they chewed on their meal of mutton, fish and peaches, in all it was a meal they both enjoyed.

  “Why, should I not speak so?” Trygve complained bitter at being told to ‘tush’. It was always ‘tush’ or ‘do comport yourself better’, with the druid. Nothing at all like Wiglaf, or Cormac, for the druid never liked to hear Trygve’s thoughts on the slightest subjects and preferred to silence him, or urge him to be more ‘tactful’. As though Cormac or Daegan were half so tactful, as the druid fancied them to be, he mused to himself with no small feeling of bitterness towards the old man seated across the table from him.

  “Because they are heretics,” Wulfnoth said simply, biting into his fish.

  “So is Alette.”

  “Aye, but she is truly gentle and pious in heart, where these people are heretics and heathen in heart and soul.” Wulfnoth proclaimed quietly, with a hint of grief in his voice. “Alette and her folks are wise beyond compare, while these Elves live across countless ages- countless centuries yet do not seem to grow half as wise as most mortal men do…”

  *****

  This condemnation stayed with Trygve, in the days that came, staining some of his relations with the Elves. While he agreed with Wulfnoth about the majority of the Elves, he simply could not bring himself to wholly ignore them all. For one thing he could not ignore Delauvaran, who spoke often of his friendship with Murchadh.

  Nor could he ignore Arduinna whom he had seen from a distance twice since he had begun to leave the house which they had lent the druid and him. So lovely and so poised, yet so utterly consumed by grief and sadness was the matriarch that Trygve could not bring himself to disdain her.

  Though he did not bear the same love for her that he held for Alette, or most notably his beloved Helga, he bore a certain awe towards her as he did his cheery mother Ida. It was she and even his image of the goddess Turan that this Arduinna reminded him most of, with her fair-features.

  *****

  It was nigh on a week since the departure of his friends from En-Coillt??n, when Wulfnoth growing impatient with their current predicament asked to see the chieftain of the village. This increasing lack of desire to remain still was one that Trygve had noticed over the course of the past several days. It had only grown ever more frantic, with the druid’s growing tendency to be more irascible and less willing to calm himself one that he had noticed with some trepidation. While he himself resented being confined to a single room, for days without end, the youth had no desire to re-open his wounds which still had yet to fully close. There was also the continuous stream of nightmares of visions he had seen in the night, ever since he had been slashed and trodden upon by the Kingwraith that kept him firmly distracted.

  “I daresay, I shall not stand for this sort of treatment for very much longer,” the old man groused early that morn’, shortly after breakfast much to the irritation of his house-mate.

  “What is it this time, Wulfnoth? Is it the food, the way they look at you? Or is it the manner in which they walk now?” Trygve queried having less and less patience for the old man’s increasingly petty and small-minded reasons to complain. Certainly there were some of the druid’s complaints that he might have agreed with it, were it not for the man’s ill-tempered lack of manners in recent days.

  “Nay, none of those, lad though they all ring true,” Wulfnoth retorted annoyed, laying down his bowl of stew with a snort of his nose, eyes upon the door he appeared to glower at it as though it were guilty also. “I shall request to meet with Arduinna.”

  “Why?” Trygve asked startled by this sudden decision, which he in hindsight should really have foreseen he thought, given the druid’s recent comportment.

  The old Brittian grumbled beneath his breath for a time until at last he made his decision and made his way to the door, to throw it open to demand of one of the guards there an audience with Arduinna. Perplexed by the grumpy old man’s pretensions and poor comportment, the guards went to go find their matriarch, who had just left on a hunt with some of her household guards.

  “Really, to leave now, when there is this horrid feeling looming over us all.” Wulfnoth grunted beneath his breath.

  This caught Trygve’s attention, for he had hitherto been rather distracted by his own feelings of wistfulness for home, and the uncertainty of what was to come next for him. While he had sworn to follow Cormac to the bitter end, or at least to the end of this quest, he had taken to wondering if this was the end of his quest.

  These ponderings along with the question of if he truly wished to return to Glasvhail meant he would be derided for a coward and oath-breaker? He had done his utmost to fulfill it, and had after all been essentially released from his promise, or so he liked to think. But when he thought of the tales Cormac had told him of the dark-riders, of the visions he saw most evenings, he was filled with a sense of despair.

  The meeting with Arduinna to the exasperation of Wulfnoth was planned for the next day, with this hardly pleasing his highly apprehensive traveling companion. Trygve would have preferred to have a little more time to think things over, ere he spoke to the austere lady.

  Yet robbed of his own choice of when to speak to her, about the future by the very same druid who had complained that he had for a week been deprived of the same, he could only grumble. His own complaints were treated as out proportion and ridiculous by the very man, who had developed the habit of complaining about all he saw or heard in the village.

  When the time did come to see Arduinna, the guards remarked upon this phenomenon themselves with considerable coldness. “I should warn you that, rudeness will not be tolerated for our matriarch is a wise woman, of impeccable birth and standing.”

  Affronted by the manner in which he was spoken to, Wulfnoth recriminated in return against the Elf, “Really, I ought to remind you of your own manners when addressing myself.”

  The Elf in question rolled his eyes ere he departed with Trygve letting loose a weary sigh. Exhausted after a night without almost any real rest, for his dreams were still haunted, he simply sent an apologetic glance in the direction of the guard then followed after the clergyman.

  Once inside he was taken aback, from the very same displays of art and beauty within the home of Arduinna that had so intrigued and awed Cormac. The difference by this time was the sense of rot at the core of the tree, with Trygve noticing how several of the branch walls appeared as though they were dying.

  A detail that had him worried, and wondering why Cormac had not mentioned it, unaware that the rot had grown in the past week, since that time. As the village was a place where time had frozen in place, he had difficulty reconciling his mind with what he saw.

  It was then that he realized almost fully, just why the clergyman felt so restless and that it was time now to leave the village.

  Arduinna awaited them not on the second floor, as she had done the great meetings with the heroes who had left to go pursue the wraiths. But rather upon the third floor of her ‘manor house’, it was there she awaited them with her back to the stairs, seated in a red-wood polished chair with a crimson cushion placed upon it.

  The walls and ceiling were all the more rotted through upon this floor, with there being no features of art or finely woven tapestries upon the walls. It was thereon that floor that one’s gaze had a tendency to be pulled upwards to the shining heavens, discernible through the semi-parted ceiling which gave in places a readily accessible vision of them.

  Two chairs were already prepared, with both of them of a similar fine design to hers. Each with their own comfortable cushions across from her own, the two were quietly invited to sit with them.

  Once they were seated with a sigh of relief that, felt pulled from both their lips almost reluctantly, the lovely matriarch of the En-Coillt??n spoke to them in a clear voice. Her voice echoing throughout Trygve’s very being in the same manner Alette’s voice had.

  It gripped him, with its profound sense of sorrow it left him full of pity for her, which was also how he felt for the Salmon when he spoke of Waltigon. “I have lived herein the village of my ancestors for centuries, having sworn to never leave it unless all my people were to agree to follow our cousins across the Glacial Sea. This was the compact those of us of the chieftain’s family, of the kin of Brigantius when our tribe split in two. I know why you have come hither Wulfnoth, and what you hope to gain.”

  “Milady I know not how you came to know my reasons, as I have yet to speak of them in their entirety, however I will be swift.” Wulfnoth replied respectfully if with some small amount of the impatience he had retained all throughout his stay, in the Longwoods. “I must be away, and Trygve also. I sense that we have not long, before matters overtake us.”

  This was far too impolite or so Trygve thought to himself, certain that the Brittian ought to have addressed the Elf far more respectfully. Especially after all that she had done for them, if he was worried about the southron man’s tone, Arduinna was not.

  Unaffected by his rudeness, she mulled over his request for some time. “How has time overtaken you, Wulfnoth of Jorvik? How can it overtake you? You who have been alive for but a fleeting moment?”

  “Due to that very issue; for time is fleeting.” The druid countered, “We live in such dire times that, a little fleeting time could spell doom for us all.”

  “I have seen many such times; for I remember when those of us who joined together to fight the forces of Morrion, when men, beast-folks and Elves all had to join together. I remember how well we fought near the fortress of Varwngul, and how Achaius struck down the enemy. Just as I remember how it was that the greatest of heroes gave rise to a new darkness themselves.

  I still remember how it was Achaius’ own grandchildren who first invited the Dark Elf Pestillyan into the lands of the Caleds. This after my own husband and father sacrificed themselves so that they may live in peace, only for them to grow weary of peace and justice, and to turn towards cruelty and injustice. I have seen the southron kingdoms, change from one state, ruled by a dozen tyrants to nigh on a dozen ruled by thrice that number of tyrants.

  Only for those same lands to amalgamate once more under one ruler, who had the same savagery in his dark soul, of those dozens of tyrants and for him to commit himself to laying waste to all within their frontiers. How fleeting time was considered by the very worst of tyrants, so that they felt impelled to inflict as many atrocities upon those living within their realms. Therefore I question, how fleeting time is for you Wulfnoth, the druid.”

  Her impassioned words were the most cynical, the most despairing that Trygve had ever heard. They were the sort that might well have fallen from the lips of a Wiglaf, or Salmon. Yet to hear them spoken of with such vividness, such strength of memory filled him with despair.

  Overflowing with pity for her, Trygve wished at that moment that she had not seen all that she had over the years, and that she might well have been permitted to leave the Lairdly-Island or to otherwise perish and go on to Orcus’ halls. Because surely, death had to be preferable, to such a painful existence, one that was almost unending and must have felt longer with each passing century.

  “You are correct that the sons of heroes oft become the villains of new eras, but does that make the whole exercise of fighting them futile? Yes, the current age is riddled with shadows and the heirs of previous heroes who may have turned upon us. But we nonetheless have a duty,” Wulfnoth replied steadfastly. “I understand that such sentiments have been forgotten by your people, but many of those I have had chance to live with, in the past years have clung to this duty. You would know this milady, if you and yours had chosen to leave the safety of your woods, to visit those people.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Wulfnoth, I do believe you may have gone too far,” Trygve scolded him at once.

  “It is the truth, you Elves since I have come to live here, have scolded me continuously on the importance of dignity and politeness, yet forget that you have grown complacent also since the age of Cormac.” Wulfnoth continued unrelenting in his disapproval for the Wilder-Elves who had taken care of him in recent weeks.

  Panting a little, the red-faced druid appeared as though he had run a thousand leagues at that moment, rather than having simply reprimanded the Elf-chief. Arduinna for her part took his harsh words in complete and utter silence.

  In place of defending the malaise that had overtaken her people, she resorted to nodding her head slowly, acknowledging his criticism with an air of defeat. “Aye, it is true that victory was hard-fought in the last wars and that it is this very victory and the losses we endured that have undone us. We who are heirs and heiresses of some of the finest inhabitants of this fine isle, descendants of those who spurned the ‘Distant Garden’ in favour of smaller gardens, near now the end. We chose in that time, to remain here for fear of death on the journey north, and have found it by allowing ourselves to fall to decay.”

  “How did such a thing come to pass?” Trygve found the words were torn from his lips.

  “My people have long believed the end loomed over us and our way of life, it was for this reason as much as it was out of vengeance that we imprisoned the Unicorn of the forest. It was for fear of change that they denied me permission to free it and I did as they bade, in spite of my knowledge of the folly of such an act.” Arduinna explained grimly, adding, “It is a terrible thing to know your end is nigh, but all the worst to close one’s ears to it and refuse to stop it. Yet we resigned ourselves to fate, claiming it to be the wise path.”

  “Such is how many people live,” Wulfnoth murmured taking up her hand in his own, in a gesture of pure tenderness adding with a stammer as he was rather unprepared also for her lack of defence for her own people. “We can take comfort in that this world is but a temporary place, milady. Take heart dear lady, for all those we have missed lie in wait for us in the halls of Orcus.”

  The question of how such words could prove themselves any sort of comfort was a mystery, to Trygve. He was however startled, to notice Arduinna offering up a small smile of gratitude in the direction of the druid who had clumsily sought to comfort her.

  “I thank you kindly Wulfnoth, and your piety is also noted, I only wish that more men felt as you do, and that my people in spite of their long years had a tenth or hundredth of thy wisdom.” Arduinna told him, her voice as soft as her gaze when she looked upon the druid, who flushed bright red, flattered by her words.

  “Not at all, not at all dear lady, it is an honour to be of service.” Wulfnoth repeated flushing so red that he appeared akin to an oversized tomato, something that amused Trygve endlessly.

  It was times such as these that the youth wished Cormac or his brother Solamh were near at hand. The two of them could prove themselves every bit as talkative as he himself was, save where he did not know how to do much more than make snide remarks, they knew how to word things far more gently, than he.

  It was a gift the two had acquired somehow, and that both had perfected over a number of years. In spite of having observed them in action in this manner, for the entirety of his life, he was no closer to being able to imitate it than he was towards being able to imitate the birds in the heavens that flew over his head all the time.

  “If you feel so inclined towards defiance against those who menace us, how may I ask you intend to resist your fate?” Arduinna inquired of her guest who pulled at his moustache, in his usual manner.

  It was a good question, Trygve thought and one that he had been asking himself, all morning since Wulfnoth had first told him his intent, to leave the Longwoods.

  Likely, he will return north, to the High-King’s court and tell him of all that we have seen, Trygve mused to himself, of the view that it was the most logical course of action. It was what he would do were he the druid. The trouble was that he was not the druid, nor did the druid intend to do as the youth might have preferred.

  “Milady, I must confess that I wish to go south,” Wulfnoth revealed to the astonishment of both the youth and the lady seated to his right. Pleased by their open-mouthed gaping expressions, he carried on in a cheerful manner. “Ha! I am glad that you find my decision so very astonishing.”

  “Astonishing aye, it is the correct word for how I feel,” Arduinna agreed with a slight dip of her head, “Why go south?”

  The paragon did not hesitate to answer, doing so with usual aplomb and frank manner of speech, “I wish to meet with my old friend Uhtric of Rheged, to consult with him on the growing threat from Antillia as well as to discuss with him Sivrard’s aggressive actions against Caledonia.”

  “You are friends with the Ealdorman of Rheged?” Trygve asked astonished still, having forgotten since some time ago just how well-connected his traveling companion was. Hardly a man prone to carrying himself with the slightest semblance of vanity, Wulfnoth had since some time ago dispelled his imaginative first impression of him.

  In place of his awe for the druid, ere their first meeting he had come to regard him as almost a buffoon and little different from other druids he had met, during their travels or at festivals in Glasvhail. “When did this take place, and how? Did this take place during your seemingly endless youth?”

  This last question earned him a fierce glower from the druid who growled at him, “Tush! I have had enough of your sarcasm, Trygve! I made friends with Uhtric during our youth when I was sent as a messenger to him, on behalf of Sivrard’s predecessor during the chaos of the reign of Ealdmund the Unwise. Uhtric was a fierce hot-tempered warrior, and though he had a slight preference for some of the war-gods of the North-folk, he was open to my pleas and showed himself a pious follower of Ziu and a staunch man of his word.”

  “For a Brittian,” Trygve muttered to himself, not much more fond of Brittians than he was of the druid seated across from him.

  “Have you forgotten that I am a Brittian also?”

  “Hardly.”

  “Why you! I have half a mind to send you on ahead, to Rheged to see if Uhtric still holds ye Caleds in as poor regard in his older years, as I hold thee in!” Wulfnoth exclaimed in a fury, his face turning scarlet as a ruby. With the old man looking prepared to all but lunge forward at the youth, to strangle him for his many insults.

  It would be a lie on Trygve’s part, if he was to say that he did not suddenly feel a touch nervous to be glowered at in, such a manner or to see the larger man leaning forward in his chair. The difficulty lay in that once he began to goad someone, he had difficulty stopping himself. He was truly his brother Indulf’s blood, and mother Ida’s son in that regard.

  Sensing perhaps just how close the humans were to exploding with fury, or causing something more than a simple scene Arduinna interceded between them.

  Serenely interposing herself into the middle of the conversation, she did so with a level gaze that stalled Wulfnoth’s fury and Trygve’s words in his throat. “Very well, though I must warn you wise Wulfnoth that you shan’t leave until your wounds have healed.”

  “I shall be fine,” Wulfnoth retorted sharply, and though he sought to present as brave a figure as possible, Trygve could tell that he was lying. Simply leaving from their temporary house, for the home of the matriarch of the En-Coillt??n had pained him greatly.

  It was as he observed the pained grimace beneath the fat exterior of the druid that Trygve was inspired. He lacked the courage he knew of Cormac, Daegan and even his brother Indulf, even Solamh, his father and mother were likely braver than he.

  And yet, the youngest of the sons of Freygil could not stand for his own cowardice if it meant a man of the cloth venturing forth, wounded and without protection or aid. Certainly this quest would not be as perilous, as that of his friends but, what would he do if he were to balk now and have to endure a lifetime of scorn and mockery, while they covered themselves in glory?

  “I will accompany you then,” Trygve promised to the amazement of Wulfnoth, with the youth blushing a little at the proud gleam in Arduinna’s eyes, at his proclamation. “I will follow you to Rheged, to Brittia’s southron lands of Gewisse or even to Gallia if the need strike us!”

  “Preposterous, have you any notion of what you say?” The druid spluttered taken aback by his sudden stroke of boldness.

  “I-I may as you say not realize quite what sort of danger you intend to face, and I may also be frightened Wulfnoth,” Trygve stammered desperate to try to appear braver than he truly was. “But I refuse to sit idly by, whilst my friends sail to the Misty-Isle to face thereon its shores endless, unimaginable danger!”

  While he panted and met the stunned if angry gaze of the clergyman with his own defiant one, he was treated to the sound of Arduinna giggling. It was a musical sound that enchanted both men, washed away their cares, their pain and their sorrows.

  Her face lit up for the first time, since Trygve had made her acquaintance so that her face was washed of the grief and graveness that always appeared permanently etched into her features.

  The solemnity that she had previously addressed them with was likewise wiped away and replaced with a fondness that warmed their hearts. “Lo! Behold the boldness of heart and spirit of the Caled-folk, the noblest of the people upon the Lairdly-Isle and the most manly of men! I have lived for near to a millennia, and have seen countless eras pass me by, and not since the time of my uncle have I borne witness to a man so afraid, espouse such courageous words! You have much to be proud of fair-hearted and sly-witted Trygve.”

  Moved by her words, Trygve could hardly string together the words he so dearly wished to say. Reduced to uncharacteristic shyness, he could only mumble his thanks for her kind words. Words that when he glanced up to at last once more meet the gaze of Wulfnoth had won he could see, a marginal sliver of respect in those grey eyes. This thrilled him.

  “I shan’t believe I may have to travel with this wounded fool,” Wulfnoth grumbled with a pout, crossing his arms as he conveniently forgot about the fact that he was wounded also.

  “It is decided my friends,” Arduinna declared with unexpected steel re-entering her voice, drawing the attention of her guests, who raised their gazes to meet her own. Drawing herself up higher than before, with the Elf-woman appearing to almost grow in height and majesty at that moment as her eyes appeared to glow all the more than before. “I shall have to perform a miracle, to heal the both of you, to speed you along on your journey.”

  “What?” Wulfnoth gasped at the same time as the Caled lad.

  “Are you trained in the healing arts of the druids of Father Temple?” Trygve asked also amazed.

  “It is something akin to those arts, though mine are considerably older,” Arduinna corrected with her fine right eyebrow curving upwards a little, as she smiled a little at him. “My arts were taught to me by my mother, and come directly from the god Freyr himself.”

  Rising to her feet as she spoke, she tended a hand towards first Wulfnoth wherefore she closed her emerald eyes. Her lips moved as though in prayer, mumbling below her breath in a tongue that Trygve could no more hear, than he could understand.

  He did not quite understand what happened next, and while he was not the most pious of men, he certainly did not expect there to be a faint glow to move from her extended palm to Wulfnoth.

  Moving along with her open palm that moved from limb to limb, only to end upon the crown of his head, she was to follow this act by laying a kiss upon his forehead. Her hands exuded a fierce, bright golden and green glow, one that moved those who observed it near to tears, with its beauty.

  With the druid later to recount how at that moment, he was filled with the same serenity, the same joy that oft filled him wherever, and whenever he himself engaged in the act of healing others. After this, though he did not react at once, moved as he was, the druid’s wounds were cured in their entirety, and he arose no longer stooped and limping but straight-backed and upon both legs with a cheeriness not seen in weeks.

  This accomplished, the Elf-matriarch moved now, or rather limped over to Trygve’s side to do much the same to him. Kissing his forehead, she pulled away with a warm smile and a regretful expression that soon turned to a grimace of pain. It was thus, at this time that Trygve’s great sword-wounds all about his back and chest, along with his wounded feet where the Kingwraith had trod upon him were cured.

  The same feeling of joy and harmony circulated throughout his soul, so that when he opened his eyes he felt tears prickle his eyes. Moved, he wiped at them, yet more seemed to appear until he was awash in tears.

  It was only when he had cleared his face and gaze of his tears, and Wulfnoth had done the same that Arduinna addressed them in a breathlessly pained voice. “Now, my friends you may depart. I must implore you to do so with the utmost haste. I would advise you take an escort, but as my people would prefer not to go whither into the outside world, I could only recommend that you stock up on stores of food and take our finest horses.”

  “We thank you milady, for your hospitality and your kindness, and may Scota protect you for your doubtlessly many remaining years.” Trygve uttered with the utmost sincerity.

  Arduinna smiled sadly at him, her eyes still pained from the wounds she had taken upon herself as their substitute for them. “Nay, lad there will be no further years nor shall time prove favourable to me. This is our last meeting in this world, for time comes for us all eventually. We shall meet again, though I pray that that shall be a long-way off and that you find all the joy, all the love that Turan could possibly offer you for your multitude of prayers to her.”

  *****

  They left her home, leaving her to her thoughts just as one of her servants ran to fetch horses, goats’ milk and some food-stores for them. All which was assembled for them, within the hour so that they left an hour after they had left Arduinna’s presence, an act that filled Trygve with more sorrow than he had thought it would.

  Such was the force of his grief that for long moments, he could no more speak than he could almost see the path that stretched out before him.

  It was then that he opened his mouth, and for the first in his life he sang a song well, singing it in a clear voice as he trod a little distance upon the horse brought forth from outside the forest by one of the hunters of the village for their use.

  “Trees still rise,

  High above the rise,

  None pay heed to the cost,

  None will time accost,

  Nor will any the outer world accost,

  As children they play,

  And the direst cost will they pay,

  If they fail to trim the tree

  When time says it is time to stop this play.”

  “A beautiful song, is it from your village?” Wulfnoth asked softly, staring at him intently with a discerning eye.

  “Nay, it- it simply came to me, I know not where only that it came just now at the- at the thought of this parting.” Trygve stammered quietly, his heart heavy with the loss of the separation from the beautiful Arduinna.

  Such was his grief that the green of the forest and the fields outside it were no longer quite so green, the suns appeared dimmed high above his head. And though there was not a cloud in the heavens, it appeared overcast to his mind. The trees no longer appeared so majestic or even so terrifying as they had appeared in previous days.

  The birds that he loved to observe throughout his stay in the Longwoods, and that he had so dearly loved to watch when fishing in Glasvhail could offer him no further joy. In other times, in other places he had greatly enjoyed imagining himself in flight with the birds, and had allowed his master’s boat to rock him to sleep at those times.

  Yet now they could no more bring him joy than his mother’s home-cooked mutton stew might have, for they seemed to him not to chirp or sing of merry days ahead.

  But rather to crow, with the keen-eyed lad quick to notice that the vast majority of the herons, blue-jays, red birds and eagles and hawks, all appeared to have taken flight for the west. So that the majority of the birds that clung to their nests in the forest or about the trees just outside it were ravens and crows, all of whom croaked menacingly at him.

  How true, he told himself melancholically that parting truly was a sorrow! If only they could have convinced the emerald chieftain to accompany them. Trygve knew it would have proved a futile gesture, especially with her taking on for herself their suffering, but he did not much enjoy this leave-taking as much as he might otherwise have thought.

  The only joy that there was to be had, he thought to himself in a dispirited manner was in the fact that he had left those strange Elves, who offered little to no advice, moved as jungle-cats might and who always eyed him through narrowed, falsely polite eyes.

  Though they might not have appreciated this sentiment on his part, he was filled with fear not for himself but for them, and with pity for them all of a sudden. Enclosed in their forest, with their greying trees with nary any sunlight in sight of their gardens, their hunting places, their fishing-lake they appeared little more than prisoners.

  “Do you suppose we will see this place again?” Trygve asked, despite the plunging feeling of trepidation in his gut.

  “What do you think?” Wulfnoth replied flatly, with little warmth in his voice and his back stiffly straight. “Never you mind them, we have a long road ahead of us and it will be a hard road therefore I would appreciate the silence, if you will while I can still claim it.”

  Trygve sighed, and with a feeling of grief and the certainty he would never again see the Longwoods, he glanced over his shoulder one last time to take in the sight of those trees.

  The crows only crowed mockingly at him.

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