Whispers Of Peace And War

20

20

Kaninzir suggested they all try to rest, fearing the Gaeradine, and their Traal tools, would come with the fall of the Sun. No-one argued, but Mythrd could feel a tension within them all, even the old Priest, himself. Gythryn fell asleep almost straight away, cradling her sword to her chest as she curled on her side. Agarang laid upon his back, eyes closed, his hands clasped upon his chest.

Mythrd fared less well. Even in the late afternoon, he found it too bright. Light filtering through his eyelids, causing balls of brightness to dance and flicker before his closed eyes. He turned on his side, resting an arm across his face, then on the other side. Fidgeting, he turned on his back pulling his jacket as far as he could across his face, but it did nothing to bring sleep. At least, for a long while.

"A Steward brings balance to the the three." A sound like wind rustling through leaves teased his ears, causing Mythrd to sit upright. "Always between. No more, nor less, important than the Priest and the Protector."

The Father of the Green, only as tall as a man, this time, the branch horns upon its head shorter than before. The Guardian stood at Mythrd's feet, cloaked in a hazy halo of green light that gave the immortal a look of something etherial and immaterial. The vines and twigs of its beard, hair and moustache trailed down to the Guardian's feet, covering its moss robes.

"I understand that. I think. I've been told that." Mythrd looked around, seeing the others laid in sleep, the other two Guardians appearing to whisper in Gythryn and Agarang's ears. "But, there's a reason I keep getting told, isn't there?"

"Walk with me." The Father of the Green held out a hand of twisted twigs, worms crawling within the gaps. Mythrd hesitated before reaching up.

The Father of the Green led Mythrd away from the camp, heading towards the edge of the standing stones. Upon reaching the outer circle, the immortal paused, before setting foot outside and, as they did so, the invisible barrier of protection surrounding the henge shimmered and clutched at the Guardian before appearing to let the creature go with great reluctance.

Beyond the henge, Mythrd could see the two barriers of logs that now surrounded the henge, a fourth and fifth circle, of wood instead of stone. Then, onward, to the bubble of further logs that they had created. Even now, Mythrd marvelled at how they had managed to find so many useable logs for the construction.

Standing in the middle of the bubble, attached and protruding from the two wooden circles, the Father of the Green paused, looking back to the henge and then turning in a circle, as though inspecting the handiwork of their four followers. The branch horns bobbed as the Father of the Green nodded, appearing satisfied.

"I'm not certain about any of this." Following the Guardian's lead, Mythrd looked around himself. He frowned, his hand falling to where the axe should sit upon his belt, but touching nothing. "People are going to die, aren't they? I'm not only worried about Gythryn, or Agarang, or Kaninzir, but for the Gaeradine, too. And, I suppose, the Traal. Why does it always have to end in death?"

"It does not. Not always." The Father of the Green reached down to the ground, without bending its back, and picked up something white. A skull. Of a fox, or something of similar size. "Death is an inevitability for mortals. We Guardians sometimes fail to care about the deaths of your kind. We exist eternal. This moment is but a fraction of a drip in the ocean of our existence. Mortals help us to remember the transience of their lives. It is all the more precious for its impermanence."

The Father of the Green handed the skull to Mythrd. It sat upon his palm and then began to crumble, becoming dust that fell between Mythrd's fingers, showering the ground, becoming motes of sparkling light that glittered for only short seconds before disappearing as though the skull had never existed.