User:TimStandridge/EkphrasticStory

EkphrasticStory
"The Dead Forest" By Tim Standridge

The Cell was less than ten paces wide and no more than twenty paces in length. The room was bare, and the walls and floor were at one time smooth granite, but now everything has a thick covering of moss and slime. The bars at the door are very old and rusting, through these bars the only light in the cell creeps in. The torch outside the bars wavers back and forth, casting moving shadows upon the walls and floor. An unknown man is lying in the corner of the cell. Micelo a tired and frightened boy, huddles against the back wall of the cell and is afraid to go near him. The man's frame is slight and haggard; the cloths on his back are but rags. Micelo hears his sister Ceila move, stirring from her fit full sleep. “This is a damnable place for a girl only fourteen-winter moons old”.” Ceila, are you awake?” Her head rises from her knees; she sits curled up, her arms wrapped around her knees in the corner, where she cried herself to sleep. The light flickers across her pale and tear stained face. “Papa, papa, is he back Micelo?””No he is not.” “What could they possibly want with papa, Micelo?” ”Is it because of the man from Atriums, that papa helped?” “Hush Ceila do not speak of anything in this place, I fear the walls may have ears.” ”Papa will be ok Ceila; this is all just a misunderstanding I am sure the guards will let us go soon, just sleep for now.” Her small head lays back down as she chokes back a sob. “Micelo, what is this place?” “Ishtaban Prison, I have heard stories from travelers passing through papa's inn; they say it is the cruelest place in all of Borela.” “Its only reason for existing is, culling the notion that there exists a place on the other side of the Raven Mist forest.” “Atrimus is just a rumor a whisper on the wind, even speaking of it is treason.” Ceila whispers quietly to Micelo “I heard that Atrimuns poses magic, dark and nefarious.” “That's just a tale told to frighten children.” “Tales that are against, King Druca's orders and told in secrete, by the elders.” “It was the wisest of elders Haman Lorteright, who foretold; over two hundred winter moons ago of King Druca's demise at the hands of an Atrimus child. The clamor of feet in boots echoes down the hall, Micelo struggles to his feet. Micelo can hear the gates up the corridor being unlocked one at a time. Micelo makes his way to the gate pressing his head against the bars trying to squeeze through enough to see who is coming. “Papa, Micelo!” Micelo, makes his way back to her and leans over, she hugs his neck. Micelo, whispers in her ear, “remember say nothing in this place.” The gate is unlocked and thrown open just long enough for the guard to throw something large down, before he turns and runs off muttering about the stench of it all. The children hear a groan and look over to see the shape of another body. Ceila cries out “Papa!” Micelo, lets Ceila go “I will go check and see it may not be Papa, stay here.” Micelos, heart sinks again and he carefully rushes to check, as he reaches down, the man breath's out in a gurgle.

“Micelo come here boy.” Ceila, upon hearing her Papa call Micelo by name rushes towards him. Micelo grabs her by the shoulders to hold her back. ”Careful Ceila he is injured.” Micelo gets his first quick look over Manaphis their father in the dim torch light, they can see their papa is covered in blood and his clothes are torn. They move close and Ceila carefully takes a hold of his head, she is crying as she gently embraces him. His face is burned. They can barely tell it is him, as he gasps and struggles to breathe. “Micelo, Ceila, you must be strong now, what I have to tell you will not be easy.” “It is true, it is all true.” “The elders are right there is an Atrimus.” “I have heard it from the lips of the Inquisitors themselves.” Ceila sobs out, “papa what do you want us to do, how can we help you?” Manaphis, struggles to talk, “I am past saving Ceila save your tears for later.” “Now you need to be strong.” “The guard is a sympathetic soul; he will be back very soon to take you and your sister to the tunnels.” “Listen to me carefully both of you, you will never be safe in Borela again, and you must go through the tunnels they lead out to the edge of Raven Mist forest.” “Do not be afraid of the forest or of the Atrimus people.” Manaphis, gasps and The children can see blood gush from the side of his shoulder as his eyes close in pain. “Papa!” “Hush Ceila, listen to me Ceila, do as your brother says; he will take care of you.” His eyes look to each of the children and they can tell he is struggling. Manaphis breaths in and the sound of blood bubbling from wounds in his neck brings a gasp from Ceila who rips cloth from the hem of her dress to wrap around his neck. “Hold on papa.” Manaphis, is barely whispering as he motions for Micelo to come closer. Micelo, leans over and Manaphis whispers in his ear. “Your mother was from Atrimus of the House of Matrivous, find your way there, they will welcome you. “Tell them you are the son, of Sir Manaphis, of the Strangelands, and of Lady Ephiline of Matrivous.” Micelo pulls, back to look at Manaphis. “I have never heard these names before, how can this be, mama died when we were young.” “Papa I don't understand, how this can be.” Manaphis is no longer moving and his eyes are wide open. Ceila whispers with a broken spirt “papa, no don't go papa.” Micelo knows their papa is gone and he reaches up to close his eyes, saying the traveler's final prayer. “Bless, this man a safe and quick journey to the halls of his kingdom, in the hereafter.” The cell is quite, and the children can hear the clamor of boots down the corridor. The cell doors are opening and closing one at a time. Each time the gates close the clang rings down the corridor like the sound of distant thunder. “Micelo, papa is gone, just like mother.” “It will be ok Ceila, papa is with mama now and they will still watch over us.”

Micelo, pulls Ceila up to her feet away from Manaphis, and they move to the gate. The guard rotund and disheveled, but strong as an ox approaches quickly and opens the gate. “Come with me children, I am Bobachaw, your father has arranged for your safe passage.” “You must be quite as we go.” Ceila turns and shuffles quietly towards the door, tears in her eyes as she looks back at her Papa one last time. With a sorrow filled voice Micelo asks “Sir, before we leave will you promise to take care of our papa.” “He deserves to be in a better place than this.” Bobachaw, looks anxiously about the cell and hall way before answering, “right, you are young sir, don't worry I'll see to it myself.” “If it isn't too much trouble, I'm certain he would like to be buried next to our mama, in the blue oaks field.” Bobachaw nods his sullen head “yes, yes, now be quite, and come along we must hurry.” The guard rushes the children out the door and turns left. The children follow him as he grabs a torch off the wall and continues down the long dark corridor. The torch cast’s long wavering shadows upon the wall and through the bars of other cell doors. They can hear moans of pain and agony coming from cells as they pass by. At the end of the corridor there are a long set of stairs, they are steep and the stones are slick with moss and mold. “We must tread these stairs softly children they are dangerous.” They move with such a pace that Micelo is worried about Ceila, and has to help her along as she stumbles almost falling several times. “We are almost there.” Ceila, is moving as if in a daze, but she always did, as her papa said too. At the bottom of the stairs, they came to a large hallway that is connected, by several small hallways. They pass four hallways before taking a left and continue walking at a fast pace. ”Quickly children, we must hurry.” “Drabeo the traveler, who is a friend of your fathers, was sent for.” “He should be at the end of this tunnel waiting for us.” They kept a brisk pace and within, four hundred paces they could begin to see another torch at the end of the corridor. “Ah that would be Drabeo, children you can trust Drabeo, or so your father told me.” As they approached Drabeo, A lean and shadowy figure, Ceila begins to cry softly. “Quite Ceila, Drabeo, is that you?” A calm and pleasant voice replies “Yes, we must hurry, I passed the Inquisitions guards on the way here.” “They were off to bring more poor souls in, and I can only assume that means they will be kept busy if we hurry.” Drabeo and Bobachaw shake hands, “Then I take it Sir Manaphis will not be coming.” “No”, Bobachaw replies with a tone full of implication. Micelo replies brazenly with anger, “he has been murdered.” The guard gives Micelo a sideway’s glance both comforting and stern as if to say he should hold his tongue. Micelo will for Celia's sake. Drabeo turns to the children, “now children I am a friend of your fathers, do not worry.” “I will see you safely to your journeys end, I will also see that your fathers accusers are dealt with.” “Wait here for me I will be but a minute.” Drabeo and Bobachaw turn and head a hundred paces up the corridor from which they came, talking quietly.

“Tell me Drabeo do you know how it is that Manaphis, was sought out in this?” “Yes, I fear that it was in part my fault, for I had sent a new courier to Manaphis.” “He was brash and did not stay to the shadows at all times as he was taught.” “ I believe he meant well but, his over confident sense of self exposed him to a patron that sold Manaphis out to the Counts Court.” Bobachaws face grows red in anger. “who was the brigand?” Drabeos face grows stern, “I know what you are thinking but I am reluctant to send any one to the Inquisition, even the lap dogs of the Counts Court.” Bobachaws voice rises in defiance of the comment, “never forget that the brigand will not hesitate to send more here, the coin offered is to good for the sort that wastes away spending their time in inns looking to spy and get drunk.” With a long sigh Drabeo nods his head, “It was Sechfrilla, brother to the village baker, and a mean and unhealthy attitude he has towards things he knows nothing about.” “I must admit the village at large will be better served with out his like hanging around, do what you must.” The two men stop, “Ah, here it is.” Bobachaw reaches into the wall, pulling out a small piece of cloth and hands it to Drabeo. “This was a close call, I almost did not have time to recover them from Manaphis before he went to the Inquisition.” “He made me promise to see that the boy received the key and the girl the seal.” “Will you make sure they get them when they are safely through the forest.” “I will.” “Then I bid you farewell, I must be back, before I am missed.” Drabeo, turns to leave and walks quickly down the corridor tucking the cloth and the items inside, into his back pouch.

“Children are you ready?” Micelo, muster's all of the courage he has and takes’s Celia's hand, “Yes”. She nods, and they head towards the opening a few hundred paces off. Micelo is awestruck, by how Drabeo moves without making noise. “Pardon me Sir but how is it you do not make noise when you move.” “Ah that is an old trackers trick think lightly children and you can too, light thoughts for light feet.” Celia is about to cry again, Micelo can see it in her face. Drabeo also notices, and he stops to turn and talk to the children, just as they reach the exit of the corridor. “Now, children, you should know that your father was a brave man, perhaps the bravest I know.” “While his time was cut short here, he served the good Queen with a conviction that never wavered.”  “Even as the Inquisition tortured him, and it is, for this reason that you will be, well taken care of.” Drabeo pulls from his back pouch a small piece of cloth, and says with a stern face. “Now is as, good a time as any, I suppose.” “Children I have for you the last and parting gift of your father and mother.” “I must stress to you that these gifts are not to be taken lightly.” Unwrapping the cloth Drabeo pulls out a small signet ring, “Celia, this was your mothers ring, it is very important because upon it is the crest and Siegel of the house of Matrivous.” “Take the ring and protect it, for with this seal, you bear the weight and power of the house of Matrivous and anything you sign with it is binding, both in magic and law.” Celia, accepts the ring with a wide and astonished look on her face, and whispers “mama.” They can see her struggle to remember her mama, and for a brief moment, her grief over her papa's death is, pushed, to the side. Drabeo, Pulls from the cloth a chain with a key on it. “Now then young Micelo, this key is equally important, or more to the point what it unlocks.” “Your father had spoken to me in the past of his plans to pass it on to you, in but a moon's time, on your seventeenth.” “This is a tradition as old as time, it was his intention for you to join the ranks of the good Queens service.” “This key will open a vault in the good Queens Court, where your father's armor resides; it waits there for you now.” Micelo slowly accept the key but his heart sinks, “Sir, I would rather, that my father were here than any gift, he could have given.” Drabeo nods his head, “indeed children, but such is the way of life.” Drabeo turns to head out of the tunnel, “we must hurry children we have a long way to walk, and we must walk quickly and with silence.”

Not very far away but on the other side of a forest, events on a cold day transpire events which could mean trouble for the children. Akamai, A quiet and hulking man dressed in plain clothes leads a simple life, the life of a wood carver. Akamai sits at a small workbench in the corner, carving away at the back of a chair. When there is a loud knock at the door Akamai turns towards it, “go away!” The door bounces back and forth on its hinges as it turns from knocking to pounding. Outside ten guards of the Inquisition stand at the door to the cottage. Their leader Malik bangs insistently on the door, “open in the name of the High Lord of the Inquisition.” Akamai, scratches his ear, “I said go Away, I don't know or care who your high Lord is.” Malik screams back with rage, “you should hold your tongue, worm those words could be seen as treason.” Akamai sighs out in frustration, “what I don't understand you, just go away, I am working.” Malik motions too his men and one of them kicks the door in. The light that now comes in through the broken door makes the cottage look smoky. “What, what is this” Akamai, stands to his feet, reaching over nine feet tall. Malik and his men are taken aback by the sheer size of Akamai. “Who is the worm now?” Akamai quietly asks. Malik falters as he gazes up into Akamai’s eyes, “I have orders, from the High Lord Inquisitor, on the behalf of the Royal King, Druca.” Malik, stammers out the well rehearsed dogma of the Inquisition. “We are here for the woman Anya Marice who stands accused of witchcraft. Akamai, throws his head back in laughter, before somberly looking down on the guards. “Who says she is a witch?” Malik, stutters as he replies. “That doesn't matter, what, what dose matter is that she has been reported to the Inquisition as a witch.” “Therefore we must bring her before our lords good judgment.” Akamai’s mood begins to grow darker as he replies “careful little man what you say, for she is my mother.” “I am Akamai Marice and if you call her a witch again I shall consider it treason unto her memory.” With an ineffectual and nasally voice Malik replies “Well, we must take her in, where is she?” Akamai, slumps into his chair with sadness in his eyes, as he points out the window towards an old weeping willow tree, “She is there, in forever and eternal sleep, gone from me not one winters moon past.” Malik turns to look out the window, “Tell me then, where is your father?” Akamai replies with a tone that strongly suggests this stranger in his house has no right to ask such a thing, “I know him not.” Malik replies with malice, “Indeed I should imagine there is some craft involved in so much as the sheer size of you.” Akamai, looks down at Malik and replies with a disdain almost palpable in the air, “I told you already I don't like your suggestions of craft least of all where my mother’s good name is involved.” ”Then it is for this reason that you, a faithful and loving son should come in her stead to plead her case before the High Lord Inquisitor.” “And what do I care of this Lords request.” Malik, begins to feel brave again with the power he garners from his place of authority, “all though it may be sad that your mother did not to teach you of the courts, or of ownership of land, there are things you must, now be told.” “The truth is, this land is owned by the good King Druca.” “The good King did in his splendor allow the family of Marice the rights to this hovel of a dwelling.” Akamai, reacts in anger to Malik’s speech, “I don't like the sound of your voice, you should leave.” Malik quips back, “what you like does not matter at present.” “If you wish to continue, to live here then you must, convince the High Lord there was no fault involved.” “Or the land right can and will be stripped away from your family.” “In terms that you can understand come with us or be put out of your home.” “Oh and who is going to do that now.” Akamai, stands up again but with a tinge of anger in his demeanor this time. “Surely you don't think you could will me to leave here, where I have grown all my life.” Malik replies quickly “Come with me now or I will return with ten times as many men and we will burn this hovel to the ground.” “Speak for your mother or we will be forced to bring her into the light from whence the place she rest's now.” Akamai balls his hands into fists, fists he is ready to use on Malik, “You would not dare!” “I would have no choice, it is said that a witch may slumber in a silent grave moving down the ages, until she is forgotten.” “Upon being forgotten they shall rise up to stir mischief and lead souls astray.” “The only way one can be sure is to tie them to the stake and burn them till only ash remains.” Akamai's face turns pale, “I know my mother is not a witch, she grew still from an infection.” “Infection brought on by the bite of a wicker whale, there is no magic involved there, just a danger of the woods we live so close too.” Malik, feigning interest and concern speaks quietly, “my sympathies Akamai, all you need do is tell witness in the court and your good mothers name will be cleared.” Akami, looks around thinking to himself, these men surly could mean trouble if ignores them, at last he replies “I do not relish the thought of leaving, but I will go with you.” Malik, claps his hands together, “good, we shall wait for you outside while you gather your things.” “Things, what things, should I bring to this court of yours?” “Might I suggest a hat and a lunch it is a day’s journey to the east.” I will wait but hurry. Malik walks from the cottage and around the corner calling to his second in command Captain Breaves, a crisply dressed soldier, “Captain Breaves, I will leave you with three men you are to wait till we are out of view.” “Then dig up the witch put her in this hovel and burn it to the ground.” “Yes my Lord Captain, it will be done.” “And Breaves, hurry to catch up to us I do not like the look of this fellow, it’s just not natural to be such a size.” Malik, turns and walks back to the front of the cottage. Akamai ducks down to step through the cottage door “Alright I am ready let us get this over with.” Breaves, walks over motioning to three of the men, “Come with me!” Malik, mounts his horse and turns to leave calling out. “Forward, and Akamai, I don't believe any of our mounts will hold you, so you shall have to walk.” “That's alright I would rather crawl then ride such a funny looking creature.” The Inquisition guards and Akamai move down the road until they are far away. Far away from the home in which Akamai, has up to this point, spent his whole life. The Guards of the Inquisition move at a slow pace so that Akamai can keep up. Malik calls a hold to the guards “Look over there, just below the tree line.” Malik turns to his five guards. “Give me the glass.” One of the guards dismounts to bring Malik A long tube fitted with glass in either end. Malik takes the glass and looks out across the field towards the tree line.

Drabeo, hurries the children along, being careful to stay just on the edge of the forest, “Carefully children, keep your eyes open, this part of the woods can be dangerous. there are mean and foul creatures that reside here.” Micelo looks around “Really what kinds?” “There is said to be a lot of wolves, wicker whales and even dromini.” Ceila asks with an incredulous tone, “what’s a wicker whale?” “It’s a bird, no bigger than your fist, but with a razor sharp beak.” Micelo, puffs up his chest, acting brave for his sister, “that doesn't sound too scary.” Drabeo chuckles back, with the mirth of an old man telling a ghost story, “Ah, but you see they are rarely ever alone they hunt in packs, and they are ruthless and smart.” “It has been said that once the wicker whales have your scent you will never get away from them.” “Worst of all is they are very poisonous.” “Once you have been stabbed by their little, sharp, teeth filled beaks, you are sure to fall from the disease of it.” Ceila, looks around timidly, “oh, I see.”

Malik sits upon his horse spying on the three moving through the edge of the forest, “what a fortunate turn of events for us I recognize those two children, the runts of Manaphis.” “Guards I am sure that the man escorting them is a traitor, I want you to capture the children and kill him. Akamai, having over heard them burst out “Whatever did they do, to deserve that.” Akamai, can see the children and Drabeo moving through the edge of the forest even without the spy glass. “They are prisoners of The High Lord Inquisitor, escaped of this I am sure.” “Guards if you cannot capture the children, kill them.” Akamai, tightens his grip upon the walking staff he brought with him, “you can’t kill children that's not right.” “Akamai this has nothing to do with you, stay out of it or you shall forfeit your lands and your life.” The rage inside Akamai that had slowly been building since his morning had been disturbed was quickly reaching a critical point. “I won’t let you hurt children, I don’t care if you think you can take my home.” Akamai, leaps forward sweeping his walking staff into the air knocking three of the guards from their saddles the blood flying from their wounded face's spraying across Malik. Malik screams out “get him!” Akamai, recovers quickly and with another swing smashes the remaining two guards heads into each other, with the end of the walking staff. A staff that is fit for a flag pole. Malik screams with a whine “you fool, I'll be back.” Malik turns his horse down the road and takes off in a gallop. Akamai, turns to look into the edge of the forest and watches while the three quickly fade off into the distance safe for now.

The five guards sit in the small cottage having made themselves, at home, even going so far as to eat the stew left to simmer over the fire place. Breaves sigh’s “It’s a shame the giant man will have to die he prepares a great stew. Tolso, one of the meanest of the guards a cruel individual, with a long face, guffaws out loud. “True, maybe they should make him a galley slave.” Breaves, shakes his head, “hmm, well I think we have taken long enough here they should long since be out of eye sight.” Tolso stretches out on the bed. “Say's you I think a nap proper is in order here.” “What, after having enjoyed such a fine meal is better.” “Besides not like that one gentle giant could harm six armed men.” “We can always tell the Lord Captain, we had to dig deep to find the old hag.” The other two guards nod their heads in agreement already finding comfortable spots to lay down. Breaves turns toward the door, “Tolso, you were ever the slacker, that's why I was put in charge of you and I'll not sit idly around.” Tolso, yawn’s, “go ahead, be spineless then and start digging, I see a chance for a reprieve and I plan on taking it.” Breaves shakes his head and walks out the broken door towards the weeping willow grabbing a shovel from beside the front porch. Breaves, approaches the base of the tree looking around expecting to see a tombstone or a small wooden cross. “So this is the final resting place of a once honorable land holder.” “Not even a marker to display the final resting place.” Breaves falls to his knees at the base of the tree, looking for any signs of disturbed soil, in the otherwise pleasant looking grass. “Tell me lady Marice, where is it that you lay.” Feeling all over the ground, Breaves is overcome with a deep feeling of sleep and falls forward to lay on his chest. As Breaves is falling forward he notices the tree above him. It's trunk is broad with a dark grey bark very smooth, uncommonly so for such a tree. In the shade of the vividly green leafs hanging down low he notices a large yellow bulge upon one branch. The branch is stretched out like an arm slightly twisted as if in pain. The bulge of yellow is dripping a gross dark slime, like an infection. Sleep over takes Breaves and he slips into dark and troubled dreams.

Breaves, unaware of his lapse into dreams is accosted by memories of his childhood, of the abbey he was taken from as a child. His parents scream as the guards dressed all in red pull him away from his mother. The Vivid color of her blood as another guard swings an axe removing her head. Breaves shakes in his sleep as he sees images of his fellow guards at the academy savagely murder townsfolk. He feels his heart grow cold as he watches in horror as he partakes in the murders, he has his orders what can he do. “Why, why must I, help me.” Breaves muffled screams fade away in side his mind and the visions turn into a subtle hazy gray. He lowers his head to his chest wishing he could cry. Breaves lifts his head to cry out. “Hello, Where Am I.” Breaves, turns around to see a lonely weeping tree, it dances in the hazy light swaying to and fro then throwing its branches forwards as if in a greeting. Lightning flashes through the skies and in the relief of the darkness the tree stands out vividly silver. The tree is special Breaves can tell but he doesn’t know she is one of a very few left of her kind. She is a dromini, a tree spirt. “You are here, I am Lady Anya Marice, and you have asked me for help.” Breaves cries out in fear, “what devilry is this, then you are a witch!” “Hardly a witch I am a woman, I am a tree spirt. Sadly I cannot greet you as a woman, so as to put your troubled mind at ease.” “For the wicker whale has bit me and I must stay in this form of a tree to slow the infection which otherwise might take over me.”

Breaves yells with the indignation of someone trained for too many years by narrow minded men, “Spirt, witch what is the difference you are of magic, and there for I must burn you down.” “Now what would be the point in that, for it was, you who asked me for help, young man there is a very big difference between a witch and a spirt.” “Not, to me there isn't.” “Well now your ignorance does not make it any less so.” “Besides, what, what can you do to help me.” “Ah, so there is hope in you yet, I have heard the way of your heart, young man you have done much wrong, but there is still time for you to do good.” Breaves looks down, ashamed that anyone else should know of his past misdeeds, “how, is that going to help me?” “Well, I can only help you to see the error of your ways, and suggest to you there is always a choice to do the right thing.” “What would you call the right thing?” “Oh but that is simple, do what makes your heart grow free and wild and that which is just to those whom you have power over.” “A good start would be to help my son, he will be back soon, but he is still such a child.” Breaves, begins to wake, and the image of the tree fades into the distance as he staggers up to his knees the last words echoing in his mind. Upon fully waking Breaves is filled with fear at the thought of a talking tree and scrambles backwards out from under its branches. “It cannot be! And yet look at the trunk; you are shaped as if a rather large woman!” The tree waves back and forth in the gentle breeze, but remains silent. Breaves stands to his feet the echoing words of her last request gaining in power. “I do not like this life I live.” “You are right Lady Anya!” Breaves Bows before her then rises and turns quickly for his horse muttering softly under his breath. A gentle madness having taken hold of him, the sort of madness that is so bright in its revelation that truth cannot be denied. “But I do mean to change it, I know I cannot persuade my fellow guards.” “As such I have no choice but to dispatch of them while they sleep.” Breaves upon reaching the horses, removes all, of the cross bows loading each one. He turns back and walks to the cottage carefully balancing them in his arms. Carefully and with deadly silence Breaves sets one of the crossbows on the table and takes aim at the hearts of two of the guards on the floor. “Forgive me, yet this will be a quicker death than the lot of us deserve.” Breaves pulls the triggers and in an instant both of the guards are dead, their last screams and the sound of the two empty crossbows as they hit the floors a violent punctuation to a violent life. Breaves retrieves the third crossbow from the table in an instant just long enough for the screams to wake up Tolso, who sits up from the gentle giants bed. “What the hell, Breaves have you gone mad!” Breaves pulls the trigger with a deadly aim, and a razor sharp steel tip. In an instant the end of the arrow is sticking straight out of Tolso's forehead. “You shall not kill anymore!” The light quickly fades from the eyes of Tolso as he slumps forward dead. Breaves turns to a work bench to retrieve an axe and heads back outside to the tree. “Forgive me my lady, but it does seem to me that the best way to save you is to remove that which festers.” Breaves, begins to chop at the wounded branch, with every swing he swears he can hear a scream.