You thought I was going to leave you all bored with nothing to read, didn’t you? Well, that’s probably fair since that’s what I’ve done most other breaks but I figured that it would be nice to just write about something else in the world. So enjoy this short little side story while waiting for The Hesitant Hero to resume.
The morning sun appeared through a small window on the far side of the cabin. The sounds of the forest had been in disarray for a while now. Dionil smiled. That must mean a visitor was coming. Someone of importance, perhaps. There was a certain energy in the air that was rare. It allowed some old memories to resurface while he enjoyed his morning tea. Out on the edge of the clearing was a duo of deer, both looking to be quite young still, but no longer a baby. Dionil sat in silence, making sure not to spook them as they carefully approached. There was some food sitting on a plate out in the grass that probably caught their attention and he was more than glad to let them have it. As they shuffled closer and closer to the food, a sound caught their attention and moments later they had bolted out of sight. Dionil let out a deep sigh. “You could do with quieter steps, old friend.”
“Sorry about that, but no steps I take would ever be quiet enough to fool a deer into feeling safe.” From the corner of his eyes appeared an elven man, much younger than Dionil and an old friend. Nestor was a priest of Saresh and operated the temple on the outskirts of Milinia. He had been serving as the town’s priest for many years now and trained under Dionil for a while to learn his skills in herbs and alchemy. Dionil had many talents, having traveled with a party of heroes in his youth, and although age had caught up with him, he still retained his knowledge.
“What brings you here, old friend? Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“There’s a murmur in town, a new hero has arrived.”
“So that’s what I was feeling.”
“You have a way of noticing these things before anyone else, don’t you?”
“Just intuition, nothing to it.”
“Whatever you call it, it’s impressive.” Nestor sat down across from Dionil and poured himself a cup of tea. “Why else would there be two teacups ready?”
Dionil grinned. He always put an extra tea cup at the ready in case a visitor came over. It made him seem like he knew they were coming, even though he never did. He could hear them, of course, but at that point he’d have to run to grab a cup to keep up the pretense that he knew more than he let on. So instead he just prepared an extra cup, not needing it most of the day. That he felt a change in energy at all today was peculiar, but a new hero would explain it. The balance of the forest was disrupted each time Might visited as well. Something about people from other worlds being here made the forest feel different and with how tuned into everything Dionil was, he would notice it right away.
“So, did you get to meet this new hero?”
“As far as I’m aware she’s speaking with Karnisal right now. I’m sure she’ll probably come to speak with you as well.”
“A woman this time. I am looking forward to meeting her.”
Nestor’s face turned more serious. “She’s being accompanied by the third prince of the Blueyerd Kingdom.”
Dionil’s face soured. “That’s a bad sign.”
Nestor nodded. “We don’t know what their plan is, and a lot of time has passed since Might died, but you and I both know there is no love between us and them.”
“You’re right, but if this young man is kind and supportive then there is no reason for me to judge him for the action of those who came before him.” He scratched his knee. “But I do worry.”
“I know you do, that’s kind of your thing.” Nestor chuckled. “The Woodland Worrier, they should call you.”
“Stop it, before it catches on.”
“Either way, you’d better get ready for the confrontation.”
Dionil nodded. “I appreciate the heads-up, old friend.” He got up and put his teacup down. Walking inside, he retrieved a large pouch. Ingredients for the priest. Dionil was a solemn man. After spending much of his younger years traveling, he now preferred the quiet and peace of being alone. That’s why he lived outside of town. Nestor dealt with the sick and wounded in town and in exchange for being left alone, Dionil would regularly share his herbs and ingredients with the priest. “Here’s what you asked for,” he said, handing the pouch over to Nestor.
The priest smiled. “Thank you.” He finished his cup of tea and got up. “I would love to stay and chat, but I have work to do, so I’ll be leaving again.”
“Finally some peace and quiet.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Nestor laughed as he disappeared back into the clearing.
Dionil sat back down inside his home, a box full of old belongings on the table in front of him. There were so many gifts in there, he couldn’t help but smile. There was an old shell from Miyara that she said would always let you hear the sound of the ocean. There was a golden ring from Eliana with a ruby embedded in it so big it would probably hurt your finger to wear it for more than a couple of minutes. A harp given to him by Lema’Thania was carefully wrapped in expensive silk. He never learned how to play it, but he’d kept it all those years to remember her by. And lastly there was the book. Might had left him his book of poetry. Dionil told him that they weren’t very good and Might had just laughed it off and told him that poems didn’t have to be good to be good. Wise as he was, it had taken Dionil a long time to understand what he’d meant with that. He smiled now as he thumbed through the old book. He’d read each page in it multiple times and he always stopped on the last one, his favorite.
When winter closes down your walls.
When frost leaves you shivering cold.
When the birds stop singing in the sky.
When the animals sleep in their caves.
Remember summer with its open halls.
Listen to each lovely story as it’s told.
When birds were soaring way up high.
We dreamt and sailed along those waves.
Dionil smiled. It was such a weird rhyming scheme and it felt very forced in trying to rhyme at all. But he understood what his friend had tried to say with this poem. Winter may be cold and quiet, but the memory of summer is still there. Those days spent on the open seas, with the birds soaring high in the sky were some of the best days they had together. They’d gone through a lot and although much of it was tense and dangerous, there were good days. Dionil closed his friend’s book and the last gift he received before his friend passed away. Maybe he would write some poetry of his own some day. He chuckled to himself. Who was he kidding, he wasn’t a poet. He would at least not be a very good one. “Well, dear friend,” he said to himself, “I think it’s time to welcome the next generation of heroes and guide them towards their destiny. I’m getting far too old for this thing.”
Opal Kaharis 