Chapter 8

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"Who is this...man?" Ione demanded, saying man as though it were some sort of repulsive insect, and he probably was.

"His name says it all. A plain, old man," Sphynx answered.

"But," I asked, frowning, "how could an old man defeat someone as powerful as the Mythara?"

Sphynx sighed, a twig falling from his hair. "What are powers without brains?"

***

Brogan sat on a mossy, green rock at the edge of a small clearing, looking up at the stars. He placed his elbows on his knees, his head resting on his hands. The moonlight cast a faint, eerie glow across his body, creating a long shadow behind him. 

The stars twinkled merrily, numerous, a splash of strange and colorful lights across the dark night sky. A light colored orb, mottle gray in places, hung in the sky; the moon. He glanced up, with his green eyes, at the sky. Around him, crickets chirped their evening song, and somewhere far off, a wolf howled. 

He thought about his parents. Where were they? Were they dead? Why hadn't they come back? Had they abandoned him? He thought of how little he knew of them. It stirred a deep feeling within his chest. A sadness of the most extremity. His gaze wandered to a particularly bright star, high up in the sky.

It's light fluttered, wavered, and then was bright again. It shone a variety of colors: green, then a light blue, then a violet color, then gold. Brogan was overwhelmed by the beauty of these strange things up in the sky. They were so far off, and seemed so small. Yet every one of them had a story. Its birth, its life, and some time or later, its death.

***

Brogan awoke to someone roughly shaking him and whispering frantically into his ear. "Brogan, wake up! Brogan! Oh, goodness, please wake up!" It was Ione, full of panic.

He jerked up but Ione pulled him back down. Her eyes were wide and her hands shaking. "Brogan, the man! He took Sphynx and our Ewynne!

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