Dreamer: The Eighth Key book 1

The Brightmoors

This trip was proving fruitful. Thistale and her companions already passed through the quaint, quiet little town of Susain. They were now nearing the lush farming community of Valendale. Everything on this side of the Bardridian Mountains was in full bloom this time of the year. The air smelled damp and fresh like the coolness of rain. A smell that Thistale thoroughly enjoyed since her time in the mountains was less than pleasant. She sat the edge of the cart, dangling her feet off it and kicking them playfully as she hummed. Sumrian followed behind the wagon leisurely, telling her all about the fields around them. All sorts of produce were planted a few weeks prior, preparing for the welcoming of spring. Seedlings already broke through the ground in pops of life, giving the fields a fresh renewed look about them. Early melons in the west fields were already flowering with tiny yellowish-orange buds thanks to the most recent shower. That sounded so wonderful to her. A whole new world away from the grey and the dark.

Valendale was larger than Thistle or Sumrian had expected. Farm homes circled the actual city in a protective ring around a large center hill. The houses were small and quaint, made of smooth polished white stone and tan plaster. Each of them had a gardened front yard fenced off by ornate arched wooden fencing. Ivy twisted around many an awning, hanging like a ribbon from home to home with lanterns in their centers. The roadways, though just made of deep rich black earth, were level and easy to walk. People here were friendly in the genuine sort of way that made Thistale wish to call it home forever. The party must have been greeted several times over by happy townsfolk who actually stopped in their tasks to acknowledge them. All and all, Valendale was a pleasant place to visit.

When the cart came to a halt, Thistale hopped off its end and took a hand that had been offered to her. “Sumrian?” She questioned. It was answered with a soft giggle and a light squeeze. “Ah. Miryd.” She corrected with a pleased smile.

“Sumrian and Enycuta went to find us a bite to eat. My company is not so bad, is it?” She said with a playful grin.

“Of course not,” Thistale replied. “I just thought he would have said something to me before leaving like that. He is very protective these days.”

“Don’t you worry. We will have a good time without them. I promise you are in the best of hands. Besides, we don’t need the men around to spoil our fun.” The assurance was welcome but not necessarily needed. The couple would have already done something if they had any ill intentions towards Thistale and Sumrian. Or so Thistale would like to think. They’ve had plenty of time before this. So why should she second guess them now? Plus, it was nice to connect to Miryd on a friendlier level.

 “Oh! This would look so darling on you!” She heard Miryd squeal with delight before something light and slightly wet plopped upon the top of her crown. Thistale drew a confused breath, patting the mystery. Fresh cut flowers woven into a ring and tied off with delicate ribbon sat fittingly there.  It made her look like a pale princess as they followed her general color scheme. Greyish blue and white. It was enough to make the Vale blush!

 “H-how does it look?”

“Wonderful, like the first snow at the crest of winter.” She answered spiritedly, but she was already tugging Thistale into another direction. Miryd was too preoccupied to notice Thistale’s innocent cheeks now.

The market here was full of marvels in the forms of produce and handmade treats. Already Miryd had her hands in another stall’s baskets to look at apples and cabbage and cheese. Thistale could hardly keep up, not that she really minded that fact much. It was a refreshing change of pace to have a friend like this. Honestly, it had been something that she had always longed for.

They just had to stop at several other little stands where a fair amount of coin changed hands. Miryd stocked up on things for travel and then some. Most definitely going overboard with the sweeter luxuries she felt they would not be able to enjoy elsewhere. Again, those little things were much appreciated.

Thistale wished more than anything to stay in Valendale for a few days, yet there was no place for them to sleep during the night. The town lacked an inn or even homes with spare space to cater to wanderers. Myrid was told upon inquiring about accommodations at an inn in the next town over.  Not far up the road to the north, though, it was certainly not feasible to go back and forth from the two without it becoming a hassle. Maybe an hour each way, if they were slow at, according to a merchant. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. Besides, it was such a beautiful day that Thistale welcomed more walking.

The sun was high overhead when the boys returned with wares that they actually needed. Miryd gained an earful on her spending but was able to quiet the bulk of the argument by shoving an apple into Enycuta’s mouth in mid-sentence. Sumrian snorted in an effort not to outwardly laugh at the scowl Enycuta held, and he devoured the fruit. Still, shut him up.

The cart was now packed fuller than it had been when Sumrian and Thistale first chartered it. Thistale felt they were ready for anything. They took off again, this time traveling downward from the high hill and past the last of the farms at a steady pace. The land flattened over the meadows where the wind blew warm from the south across them, causing them to dance in waves of color. Ahead of them in the distance, they could already make out a sun tinted rock face. Xune was a small kingdom. That wall marked its broader with Leone and Thorrid, even if it was still a fair distance away.

The ground became wet and squishy, heading northward. Meadows gradually shifted into a dense marsh. Large ancient willows stretched roots out in every direction they could, trying to find water as they groaned and creaked in the winds. Mist rose up high over the ground. It often covered the more stable patches that were marked as the path. The locals had to have the road reinforced with chipped gravel packed tightly into the earth between wooden guides to keep the marsh from taking it over completely.

The air was thick and heavy and spicy, leaving all who wandered the marsh for too long in a haze. Patches where the sun broke down into through the willowed canopy and the tall reeds dazzled brightly, reflecting off the water’s surface and dispersed the lingering fog every so often in pillars like spotlights. It imitated what it would be like to walk through a cavern with holes periodically punctured into its ceiling in the heat of the day. Bridges constructed of wood and stone were placed in such places. That made travel a bit easier lest one were to stray into the mud off the beaten path. Specifically, if one accidentally became lost.

The marshland was pretty shallow, getting only as deep as mid-thigh at the most.  The mud was not that thick either as the soil had since become fuller with rock chips closer to the cliffs. This place was called the Brightmoors, for even the moon had much the same effect on the landscape as the sun did. It always seemed well lit, and needless were the torches to travel on through it.

For the most part, moving through the moors had been monotonous. Though it was Sumrian, and he alone, that felt ill at ease here. “I sware places like these are not where the common folk of the world should venture. Things lurk in places like these, don’t they? Dark, dangerous things…” He murmured, alarming Thistale.

Sensing his unease, Thistale scooted closer and leaned her head on his shoulder. “What’s the matter? You are acting weird. I don’t remember you being particularly superstitious.”

Sumrian ran a hand through his hair. “I feel like we are being watched. I swear I thought I saw a figure in the mist. Up the way there near the willows. Only for a second. Like a flash. I did not hear anything, but…” He took a breath. “But I am sure I saw a face at leas,t with dark piercing eyes that caught the sun. A tall figure surrounded in red.”

That did sound like it was a bit much. Even so, Thistale felt the need to be supportive. “But what? If you cannot trust what you can see, put some faith in the other senses.” She told him. “Your heart. Your head. If you think we could be in danger, then we should go with caution.”

Sumrian looked out at the moors for a long, quiet while. “Nothing out of place can be seen so far as I can tell. Maybe, perhaps I’ve been overthinking things. You so often told me so before.” The man shook his head a little bit. “It’s nothing.” Sumrian insisted as he patted Thistale’s arm softly. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long past few days.”

The rock wall sprung towards the sky out of the mists, and the willows began to clear away to reveal a wide river. Shallow but swift, it ran the length of the wall westward and northward, bending around a large boulder that must have fallen from above long ago. One more bridge stretched across the course at this point, spanning a half a mile or so over it and unstable ground to a road. The path then crawled along the river’s far shore and began to gently climb upwards near a part of the wall that started by a steaming waterfall. Hot spring-fed, the falls allowed vapor to cloud over the colder water below.

 Unlike the way through the marsh, the road here was lit by tiny glass oil lamps set back in small divots in the rock, which protected them from the elements. This path was always shaded away from the sun’s blessing, and nothing grew. Up a few feet, a low stone wall was placed, welcomingly baring the signs of care. Crisp, clean light blue cloth was hung along and all the way up it, which lead to an open gate that ushered tired travelers into the center of Rosleen.

Rosleen was not so much a town as it was a massive complex that served as the Inn. It rested on the edge of the cliffs and looked over the Brightmoors below. The houses were packed tightly together, breaking for the roads out of town only, like an impenetrable barrier. The town was eerily quiet. Yet, people walked to and from the Inn in an unfriendly, tired manner. It was like they had been working far too long and had been much too tired to notice the arrival of troublesome outsiders. The little wagon came to a crawl; even the horses were spooked. Miryd had to hop down and take the lead to get them to budge from the entrance and into the tight streets of the town. “Easy there.”

This must have been the place mentioned earlier though it paled to what they had been expecting. They were in farming country, and the Inn looked like it belonged in a much more populated city. It towered above everything else near it in a foreboding manner. To put it simply, the Inn looked sorely out of place. Sumrian helped Thistale down from her position and put an arm protectively about her waist. He was feeling uneasy once again. This time, that feeling was entirely mutual.

Enycuta waved them off while he went to go find lodging for the horses with a displeased grumble, urging them to go and get rooms for the night to come. Clearly, Thistale thought he was avoiding that building like the plague.

Miryd was the first to reach its steps. No sooner had she placed a foot upon them where they greeted by a portly looking man with short legs and abnormally long arms. His skin was greasy in the evening sun, the light caught it as he dabbed himself with a dirty square of cloth. He had beady black eyes that darted directly towards Miryd’s purse; his paper-thin lips curled into a creepy little smile that seemed more forced than real. He opened his arms to greet them. “Welcome! Welcome! To our little town and our Inn! You do plan on staying, yes?” Those eyes never saw anything but the potential coin to be made. “No doubt you are. Come here for the hot springs, did you? Of course. Of course. This way, if you would. Don’t dawdle. I cannot stand dawdlers.” He turned to waddle his way back up the stairs and inside without so much as his name.

Sumrian frowned as his arm tightened around Thistle’s, shooting an apprehensive look towards Miryd, who mirrored the expression back. “I don’t like this. I have half a mind to get out of here.”

“But then, where would we sleep?” Thistale asked. Perhaps if the smell of rain was not so hefty on the night air, they could have settled for camping down the road. But the very mention of something so soothing as a hot spring was a hard thing to turn one’s nose up at. Sumrian gave in, leading Thistale past Miryd and inside.

The Inn was dark. Candlelight was sparse, only set upon a few of the low tables throughout the lobby. It was full of all sorts of people enthralled in loud conversations that drowned out one another in a roar. Busy in a way that the outside had not even begun to suggest, the sight came as a huge surprise. Keeping track of the innkeeper proved troublesome as they wove through the crowd towards the counter where they paid for the room and for a soak.

Vague directions of where the room and baths were located had been hastily jotted down for them in nearly illegible handwriting on a scrap of used parchment. Then, they were waved out like r****e. Sumrian scrunched up his nose in the effort of reading it. “Nope. Can’t make heads or tails of it.” He grumbled. Then the slip of paper was passed to Miryd along with Thistale’s hand. “I’ll meet you, ladies, in a little while. I am going to go find Enycuta and bring him up to the room. Take good care of her for me.” He pointed at Thistale.

“You worry too much.” Miryd huffed as she held the paper close to her face. “I think we are upstairs. Uh…” She had to rise on her toes to get a decent look around, spotting a staircase in the far corner of the lobby. That was as good a start as any they were going to get. The petite woman linked her arm with the Vale and pushed their way to the stairs. “Careful, barmaid to your left.” She said. “Going up now. First step...” 

A flight and a half of steps put them on the second floor at the end of a long and bright hallway that was completely void of people. Even the noise from down below did not follow up to this floor. From here, Miryd began to count the doors as they passed and stopped at the only one that was ajar.  Miryd nudged it open with her foot. “Hum. No signs of occupation and three beds. This must be it. Or at least it’s close enough. I can’t really make heads or tails of where our room is supposed to be, so we will just have to use my best judgment.” She explained to Thistale as she compared the markings with one another.

An hour. We’ve waited an entire hour, and we have heard of neither hide nor hair of Sumrian or Enycuta. Or anyone else for that matter. Not a soul has come up those stairs since we have. Quite frankly, Miryd seems tired of waiting.

“What do you think? They should be here by now, right?” She tossed her head over Thistle’s shoulder to stare down the door impatiently.

“Just leave it be. There’s probably a bar downstairs. I know Sumrian likes his liquor.” Thistale brushed the notion off as she lay back against the softness of the bed.

“Well, all I am saying is that it’s just plain rude to keep ladies waiting. It’s such a pain.” She huffed dramatically to emphasize her annoyance.

Thistale chuckled faintly. “It’s fine, really. Besides, Sumrian should know where we are. They will be here when they are ready to.” She attempted to assure her, though it didn’t sit well with her either.

Miryd flopped down on the bed beside Thistale. “You’re probably right... Hey. I have an idea. Let’s go take a look at those hot springs. Why should we have to sit up here and wait when we could be treating ourselves? I have never been to a hot spring before. It sounds magical, doesn’t it?” She sounded like an excitable child on her birthday.

Thistale didn’t need much convincing. Miryd had a little bit of a point. “Fine. We should not be that long at any rate.” She smiled, standing to cling to her new-found friends’ arm to wander the Inn in search of the relaxation they were promised.

The springs were much easier to find than the room was. Walking the long hall to its other end took them down a short set of steps and a pretty landing. Just outside of that, open-air springs steamed pleasantly in waiting. Night had already fallen, so the sides of the building had been lit with lamps similar to those on the path up. Only much bigger. They burned dully with a soothing, heavily floral smelling oil that seemed to cling to the low fog all the way to the fences.

 The springs were left in their natural state, untouched by craftsmen. The raw beauty of them was something special, indeed. Thistle and Myrid had to be careful as they found a way down into the hot springs without slipping. The bottoms were uneven and deep in some places but otherwise relatively easy to navigate as long as they kept along with the upper stone.

 This grouping of pools was not too terribly extensive. The entire complex of them measured some twenty feet back and thirty-two or so wide, varying in depth and bubbling in the places where the springs jutted up from the earth. Tiny falls and streams connected them to one another, offering a filtering flow. Once the girls settled, they found this place was extraordinarily relaxing. Miryd tipped her head back, watching heavy clouds fill the sky above though they had not yet dropped any water, telling Thistale about what she thought the clouds looked like. Once more, they found themselves utterly alone. In this case, Thistale found it made the entire experience better. Thistale was able to stretch her body out in the warmth, finding herself overly tired suddenly as she drifted off in comfort.

Thistale was not sure how long she had slept for, but she jolted back into consciousness by a sharp crash of thunder above. An unnerving feeling then washed over her. It was a scary sensation, like that of being left alone in the dark as a child for the first time. Just like she had been for the last handful of years... Thistale knew now that she had indeed been utterly left to herself.

“Miryd?” She called out as she reached to the side of her only to find the warm, slick stone where she had been sure Miryd had been sitting no less than fifteen minutes prior. No answer came to her. Thistale frowned deeply. Miryd is simply not the type of person to up and leave like that, in my opinion. Not to mention the fact that Miryd understands how difficult it would be for me to find my way back on my own. Speaking of which, I never even heard Myrid leave the water… What’s going on? This is just getting too weird.

Rather than being a sitting duck, Thistale rose and felt her way clumsily out of the spring, where she fell forward and was forced to crawl to continue safely. She would not risk seriously hurting herself on the stone by continuously trying to get back on her feet. All the while, she racked her thoughts for how many steps she had taken to get into the pool from the landing. Or which direction she and Myrid initially came from. It was slow going at first. Once she had managed to pull herself out of the many springs, her speed increased.

With small steps, she found where her top clothing had been discarded away. Two sets of them. Hers and Miryd’s… Though she could hardly tell which one was which as she dressed. She made the wrong choice, but there was no time to change as she pulled Myrid’s simple brown dress with the open back down over her shoulders. Finding the extra set confirmed that something was terribly amiss. I should have listened to Sumrian a little more. How could I have been so stupid?

Thistale felt along the wall to help guide her around on a safer course. She knew they had come down the stairs, but she was not sure where those stairs were or how they should begin. In this way, she found herself moving down a wide walkway. It descended softly towards a low but locked gate that stood just about hip-high. With a little bit of careful planning, Thistale climbed slowly over it, snagging the too small, dry dress coat on a knob in the wood. It caused her to fall the rest of the way over and into the dirt.

 No matter. No longer was she on the Inn’s grounds but in the thin forest that lined the cliffs to the building’s west. The road through it was not marked or lined. It was only slightly cleared of the brush and brambles covering the forest floor, which made it a thinner trail that crawled out through the trees till they grew dense and thick and wound off in several directions. It appeared to have been traveled just enough to encourage flora not to overgrow the path fully but not enough to keep larger plants and trees from reaching out over it like boney hands. Thistale stood upright for a moment to listen to the nothingness around her until she heard the sharp snap of a branch uncomfortably close to where she was.

Knowing fully well that something was close, Thistale’s weak heart beat up into her ears. She could also feel the tension rise in the air ten-fold as the pitter-patter of chilly rain started to fall in large icy drops all around her. The noise was her only clue to the whereabouts of Miryd, yet she feared it. Thistale broke out into a run in the opposite direction out of fear. Her bare feet turned up the loose soil as she skidded around trees by way of hooking her arms around them and flinging herself away. In this way, the Vale unknowingly darted the best she could towards the cliffside not far ahead of her new course.

Danger loomed ahead. Thistale found the edge of the cliff but could not stop herself in time. All of a sudden, there was simply nothing below her feet but sky. Thistale felt her stomach flip as she plummeted towards the river below, her lungs gathered up air abruptly to scream, but it was cut off before it even started. Arms, firm and strong, encircled her frame. She was pushed against the side of the cliff where unstable ledges supported the figure of her uncanny savior. The very same character Sumrian swore he saw out in the mists of the Moors. Thistale let out a gasp and a long raspy sob, stunned still that her life nearly ended in her fit of panic.

“Shhhh.” A voice that sounded like a faint gust of wind cooed into her ear as that steady arm shifted to tuck under both of hers securely. Then they began to climb quickly downward in a spider-like fashion. Thistale thought he must have done so dozens of times before with absolute precision.

                                                                                      *

The Wildwalker was a tall, lithe creature cloaked in red and brown. Thin in his middle and stringy, like a tree’s limb. He was red of skin and of hair which poured down over his sides in a wavy tangled mess of nature. It was beaded and braided in several spots even, matted to keep each in place permanently. Particularly around two long antlers that could have passed for pieces of wood protruding up and around his crown. Deep muddy brown eyes, sunken in slightly were accompanied by elongated and carved out facial features, picked out safe footholds in the rock.

Thistale shook violently in his hold, but he held no ill will for her. After all, he was delivering her to solid, safe ground. In fact, it only took a few long minutes to find a nice place where he could place her down, and she could be further supported.

 The creature inspected the woman briefly as she steadied herself, forcing herself to calm as she thanked the Goddess her life had not ended. The Wildwalker craned his head towards the center of the Brightmoors like a deer might when it was spooked. But instead of fleeing, the creature took her hand in his to lead her deeper within the Moors. He’d already figured out she was sightless as her eyes were slightly milky. A dead giveaway. That made much more sense. What sane child of Gya’a ran off a cliff?

Thistale had little choice but to follow him. She would never have been able to find her way out of the Moors on her own. Plus, her curiosity in what she could tell of the Wildwalker’s mannerisms peaked. Particularly as he swept her up into his arms when she could no longer keep up with him.

 Voices hung low on the air, carrying upon to mist like ethereal echoes. The Wildwalker could not make out any words just yet, but he knew he was homing in on where they were coming from. Soon came the scent of the burning of green, wet wood accompanied by low rhythmic chanting and muffled screams. The hair at the nape of the Vale’s neck stood on end as the creature slowed them. “Shhhhhh.” He whispered in her ear once more, guiding her to lower into the reeds so that she might be better concealed.

There was this high-pitched cry for mercy in the night, followed directly by the sound of something sharp cutting through the air and ending with a dull, heavy thump. The overbearing scent of coppery blood mixed with the smell of wood, muck, and dried grasses brought the sounds of someone retching nearby. “Stay.” The creature rumbled low at Thistale before he stalked out into the terrible scene unfolding before him.

In the center of the marsh was a raised mound of mud, slick and slimy within the dampness of the fog. A bright fire blazed fiercely in the middle of that. Smoke billowed toward the east on the brisk nightly breeze, whistling eerily through willows. It swirled around the silhouettes of several figures in mock fury. Two were on their knees before the fire, with hands and feet bound. A hand full of others stood around them in gaudy orange and brown ceremonial robes and formed a semicircle, dancing like heathens with prayers on their lips.

The Wildwalker knew what this was as soon as his eyes fell upon a body. This was a sacrifice. Unwanted tribute to our spirit, no doubt. It’s absolutely disgusting. How dare they sully the Moors so… These inn builders think this is what is going to save them for defiling our marshlands all this long while? More blood on their hands? That was a fact made plainly clear with the stone before the fire, painted with red from the fresh kill. This was an insult.

“Oh, benevolent spirit, hear our plea! We beg you to spare us! To this end, we send this unwilling soul!” A man cried as he stood over the body with a crudely cut stone knife in hand.  He spread his arms up towards the heavens. The act sickened the Wildwalker to his core. “Oh, Wildwalker! May you be satisfied and be kept bay so that we might thrive! In blood, we offer our penance!”

The man probably thinks what he is doing was justifiable. This display will bring them nothing but our wrath. Death will come swiftly.

Those around the fire dipped their hands in the blood of the recent kill from a pool that collected it below the alter, raising their hands up as well in cheers and prayers. “Bring the woman!” The man said, turning to look at the two left like they were cattle only fit for s*******r. That was enough. The Wildwalker would have no more.

The Wildwalker made a sound like a torrent of water rushing down from the cliffside as he descended upon the first of the cloaked cultists. An unsuspecting man that stood at the outer edge of the group, facing the fire. With the strength of twisting tree roots, The Wildwalker tore through him before he could utter so much as a gasp.

“The spirit!” A woman cried, pointing at him in terror. Confusion sprung up over the cult’s members. It’s like they could not fathom why the creature would attack them when they were giving him such great gifts. Every last one of them had been made to believe this was what he wanted. He was not impressed. “Have mercy!”

“Stand your ground. Hurry and ready the next sacrifice. “The ringleader commanded, ignoring the Wildwalker.

Another cultist was torn to shreds as the Wildwalker advanced like a ravenous wolf. He came down upon that smug man with the blade. Though the wielder looked like he could not process what was going on, and though fear swallowed him up, he did not budge an inch in the wake of the creature’s vengeful gaze. It was the keeper of the Inn. That man has stained the marshes with blood for years, growing a following in these darker days. We know that face. He was the man the Wildwalker despised above all other ill creatures to ever set foot in his domain. The beast threw worshipers out of his way, snatching them up with great vines that came from the very ground underneath their feet, and he flung them as hard as he possibly could away. One of the cultists that tried to carry out the leader’s bidding was simply sucked down in the mud like quicksand. Finally, he faced that bastard head-on.

“Stay back, spirit… I don’t understand why you are so angry, your grace. We have done this for you.” He insisted as he cowered, his knuckles turning white from gripping the sullied blade. “These people would have ruined everything I… We have worked for. They always do. I wanted to… Save the Brightmoors!” He swallowed thickly. The Wildwalker was not buying any of it.

“Liar.” He hissed.

“It’s true. This blood protects the water. In turn, your blessed water protects us. You are supposed to use these wretched souls to keep the Moors bright and safe. For that is how it is written. All for you…” His eyes shifted to where the two other sacrifices were. “They are for you. Take them. Take them and let your will shine down upon us.” The man cackled with insanity. Such delusions.

The Wildwalker’s hand shot out like a vine as it grasped around the man’s throat and pulled his wooden face close, rising his elongated frame up and over the now bowed form. “You lie. We have been watching. You defile us.” He stated flatly, squeezing tightly. “Yours will be the last blood to feed the willows.” He promised.

“Wait!” Thistale rushed forward, or at least what she thought was towards The Wildwalker, and stole his attention away from his kill. “Where are my friends? What have you done with them?”

 Thistale came up the mound but paused. The Wildwalker watched her head jerk to the side as she caught a muffled voice, now close enough to gather its tone and pitch. She could hear Sumrian and Miryd, and her fear grew. That could not mean only one thing. That cry could have belonged to Enycuta. The Wildwalker stared at her now but refused to lessen his grip. Such silly creatures these young ones are. She should have stayed hidden as we bid her to.

The distraction was welcomed as the Inn Keeper’s only means of escape. The knife in the rat’s hand came fast, and it came hard as it delved into the center of the Wildwalker’s chest. The creature huffed once and dropped the old bastard flat on his fat face.

The blade was easy enough to pull away from his body before he snapped it in two. Being what he was, it hadn’t done any real damage. The knife only came as a surprise. Really, he should have seen it coming. The pause it caused gave the innkeeper ample time to flee. The Wildwalker wished to make chase, but there were more pressing matters to attend to right now. He gave one more accusatory look at the man’s back before he turned to move towards the Thistale and her companions.

Miryd, free now from her bonds, got in front of Thistale to protect her from the creature. The Wildwalker must have looked like a terrible harbinger of death. Thistle hardly noticed the creature or Miryd as she was too busy doing Sumrian the same curtesy of freeing him. The smaller woman gasped. “No! She has nothing to do with this!” She fretted as tears spilled from her eyes, and she pled with the Wildwalker. She crossed her arms over herself to protect her body from any attack.

The Wildwalker gave pause for only a moment. He considered her fear as something he could not have stopped in lue of the circumstances. Unless he was able to show that he was not a danger to them, that is. Yet he was only able to reach out and stroke her cheek as gently as a father would his own child. “Hush now, young one. We will not harm her nor you.” He assured. “We are sorry for your loss.” He said softly. He could feel the sadness welling up within Miryd’s heart.

Her eyes must have found the body since it seemed like she has frozen in place. Poor child. She looks like she has gone completely numb. Sure, she must have heard his death, but she was unable to see it then. She must be in shock. In captivity, Miryd was forced to face the opposite direction. Seeing what she already knows has most likely begun to sink in. Miryd took slow, unsteady steps towards her husband’s body. Each one looked painful. Time refused to allow any of them to escape this very moment, wishing to encase everyone in it forevermore.

 Myrid fell to her knees before Enycuta with trembling hands, tucking his straight black hair behind his slightly pointed ears. “Can’t you do something?” She asked the creature.

“There is nothing that can be done. We cannot raise the fallen.”

“This is not fair… It’s all my fault… Had we gone to look for Enycuta sooner or not let him go off alone, he would still be alive.” Miryd sobbed as she pressed her forehead against his, whispering apologies to him over and over. The Wildwalker stroked her hair softly and allowed her to mourn.