We Solemn Few

Chapter Seven : The Coming Storm

Marrow walked slow, complacent steps behind his father, breathing silently and wishing not to be acknowledged by the wide-shouldered man in front of him- his father. Not that he didn't enjoy being around his father - it was quite the opposite more often than not, his father is a rather kind man - but he didn't enjoy being around him so much when they worked. His father may be kind, but when it came to logging his polish seemed to chip away with every arc of his great axe, and without polish his father could be a very... unpleasant man. Marrow forced his coffee-colored eyes away from his dad's leather-strapped back, looking for something, anything, to otherwise steal his attention. He looked at his feet, then to the grass around them, then to the trees that darted up from the grass, and then to the leaves and the slow shift of their colors as fall began to course through Krohna. This part of Krohna, at least, Marrow thought to himself, If "Voldeheimer's Guide to the Wilds" isn't pure fiction, the north is supposedly stuck in a perpetual winter. Something about being cursed by-

"We've arrived, boy," half-sang the gruff man before him as their trek came to a sudden halt. Marrow drew his eyes from the trees that spanned out as his side, turning forward to see what tree his father had found for them today and his jaw nearly hit the floor. Before him was a Halcyon Pearlwood, a giant tree with bark of shining and melding gold and silver, the twisting out into a sprawling top of leaves that shimmered with glittering greens, reds, and blues comparable to emeralds, rubies, and sapphires. A few clear leaves - much like diamonds - sparkled between the others. Marrow subconsciously recalled "Avadria's Botanics and the Wonders of the Wild", recalling the art he had thought was gorgeous upon the page; he realized, now, that the art was a mere tenth as gorgeous as the real thing. A hundred times cheaper, too, I'm sure. Mythos, a Halcyon Pearlwood! I never thought I'd ever see one!

"It's amazing..." Marrow finally said, awe clear in his voice as the midday sun danced in his eyes, turning coffee-like browns into caramel hues. He was so caught up in the surprise he nearly managed to forget the aching in his legs, and a question came to him suddenly; How far had they walked to get here? He spun slowly on his heels, seeing nothing but multitudes of trees spanning out every which way for as far as he could see which, frankly, wasn't very far with how thick the clustering of the trees were. The sun, however, was a much better indication; they had left at daybreak, and it was already midday. We spent half a day walking! Mythos, how far are we? The thought simply subsided with another look at the tree. Half a day hardly mattered when Halcyon Pearlwood was worth its weight in silver and gold.

"It is indeed, my boy. It is said there is only one tree more beautiful than these, and even then that tree is merely regarded as myth." His father seemed to scoff at that thought, as if he believed those who regarded it as such were fools. Perhaps he did.

"Fraubeau'Elklineht," Marrow stated plainly - the word had been ingrained in his mind since before he even learned how to speak. His mother often said she was worried that would be his first word, rather than ma or da. He continued, "The Tree of the Ancients. A tree said to be so tall you could stack every archmage's tower and barely pass the trunk with branches so wide the leaves atop them blocked out the very sun. I remember."

"That you do, boy. Do you remember, however, that Halcyon Pearlwood are supposedly the seedlings of Fraubeau'Elkineht?" His father had turned to face him now, his dirt colored eyes studious as he ran fingers through his large beard.

"No, I don't remember that, father," he admitted, "but the Ancients' Tree is myth, and myth near-never intersects reality."

"Never?" his father seemed to chuckle at that, but Marrow had no clue why, "I suppose you might be right, my boy. Might be, mind you, as our very town holds such normalcies for us that others may very well consider myths themselves. It is often harder to divide reality from myth than one might expect."