Chapter Seventeen
“The Goyor, or Forest Folk, are a peaceful race that tend to avoid outsiders. In fact, it is very rare to actually see one. Their existence is worshiping their god, Pom Ni, by protecting and tending to the forest. They live in secret communes all throughout the Alba Forest.”
—Customs of Exotics; Lorn VacLell
She placed a snow-white rose on a plain wooden coffin made of knotty pine. It was completely unadorned of any mark or trinket that spoke of the man that lay inside. A young man that was so vibrant in life now lay in the quiet anonymity of death’s solace. Her hand began to shake as she slowly stroked the smooth wooden cover hoping to rub away time—back to a time so very near when he yet lived.
She kneeled and wept silently, bowing her head in supplication to Verna
