“I don’t understand all this death?” murmured the youth.
Deedle had grown up in the ancient forest of Ãlskad. Life had been predictable and safe until the Dark One came with his army of Troth warriors.
“Fenward Oak was a peaceful village. The Troth cut them down as if they were shafts of grain. Why?” asked Deedle.
Anya and Malik had helped raise the orphan boy after his parents died in an avalanche. Deedle had summoned them for their advice.
“I can’t rightly say, child, why some die, and others live,” Anya told the boy.
“I know not the way of the spirits. I’m sure those who died at the Dark One’s hands are floating on the Westerly Breezes,” offered Malik.
Concerned that the young Waldvolker may act rashly. The two counseled him to think before acting against the Troth.
“Mind your rage. No good ever came from fool-headed thinking,” the matron counseled.
“If you must act, then seek Tekla of the forest guard and use your talents to save all in the forest,” Malik said.
“Thank you for your wise counsel. I see why my parents made you my guide-parents. I will consider my options, then at first light make my choice,” Deedle said.
“We will hold you in our thoughts. We’ll leave you now and give you our blessing,” Anya said.
The elders walked away, hoping their words would guide the boy toward reason rather than rage.
“Do you think he will choose wisely?” asked Anya.
“Let’s hope he does,” the man answered.
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