Read Time: 4mins
Your kind has no place in these lands,” Zelana’s words struck with the force of a hundred hard fought battles. “This is our home, my people were born here and they will die to protect it.”
Bloodroot knelt by a silent pond, his fingers caressing its waters as if unaware of the noxin’s presence. With a deep sigh slowly he rose to his feet. The oakthorn towered a head above the general, his slender frame draped in a cloak of crisp, autumn leaves.
“Child, what is there to protect?” His words were soft and nurturing, “We oakthorn are kin to the wild wood, I hear the song of this great forest, the very essence of this world flows through me, and in turn it now flows through you.”
Zelana turned away from the old priest unable to stomach his nonsensical ramblings any longer. How long had she been here? Lost in the depths of this damned forest, listening to the mutterings of an old fool. Days, months, years! It was as if time held no control over this place. Like a world of dreams.
In the distance she heard it, the cry of battle; quiet at first but building rapidly, sending a frenzy through every fibre of her being. Zelana’s hand found the swords hilt, her heart began to race. Breaking into a sprint she launched herself into the unknown, to glory or death; either way she would finally be free of this place. She ran for what felt like hours, sweat burning her eyes and amour digging into her flesh.
“You are chasing ghosts,” Bloodroot’s voice was everywhere; it enveloped the trees and shook the ground.
To her left and right suddenly she saw them; where moments ago there had been nothing now laid warriors. Hundreds of them; whether oakthorn or noxin it no longer mattered. This forest that once teemed with life was now no more than a graveyard. Zelana felt her heart crumble; dropping to her knees, she pummelled her fists into the blood soaked earth. Why had they marched without her? How had this happened?
“Their time may have passed, but this is not the end,” Bloodroot continued, as if his voice spoke directly to her mind.
Then she felt it; the hairs on her neck prickled and stood to attention, a feeling of unease like nothing before. Dragging herself to her feet she stumbled forward, passed the bodies of friends and foes. Over decaying trees and torn earth, until she found herself confronted by a immense and ancient willow. The feeling of this place was palpable, it called to her with a dark foreboding; a secret meant for her eyes alone.
There she saw it, resting amongst the tree’s great roots, a pair of bodies wrapped in a conflict that would never end; bodies that Zelana recognized instantly.
“Finally you have found your truth, ” Bloodroot’s worn hand came to a rest upon her grieving shoulder, “this is who we were.” Looking into his huge, sorrow filled eyes she no longer felt disdain towards the elderly priest but rather a sense of regret.
Raising his hand to her cheek, he wiped away a tear, “This is who we were, not who we shall be.”
In an instant Zelana was alone. Bloodroot, gone; the bodies of the fallen, no more; the willow that only moments ago was thick with its summer coat, now deep in winter’s icy grasp.
For a moment fear flooded into her heart; then she heard it, the song of the forest, the animals and the wild wood a chorus of voices, but one lifted above all others, resonating deep within her.
“We are one.”