The Disjointed Tales Of Renryre Island

05-1: The Lost Hermit

Exhausted from a long day of wandering through the forest, relaxing in the warm breeze with his feet in the cool water running down from the mountains, and achieving nothing more than forgetting why he set out in the first place, Gerylde the hermit arrived home to find a cooked meal waiting for him inside. It was a hare, cooked over fire. Half of it, at least. The other half had vanished, along with the chef.

Ryleine had been round then. She was such a sweet girl, making sure to visit every few days to check up on him. Gerylde remembered when he used to pop around to visit her, back when she was too young to string together more than a few nonsensical syllables, accompanied only by excessive saliva and giggles.

A lot had changed since then. The girl had learned to talk, and walk, and how to survive in the forest. Gerylde had more or less forgotten how to do all of those things. He wasn't sure how he had managed that last decade, living on his own in a little hut deep in Rordynne Forest. But, he fully intended to stay there, living alone for the remainder of his years.

Ryleine was one the few people he ever saw, and he loved every visit, even if she always gave him that pitiful, worried look – the one that suggested she wanted to take him home with her so that she could look after him there.

Although, there was also that strange fellow the other day. Appeared out of nowhere. Leathery skin, spent too much time in the sun. What was his name? Not important. The point was, he very rarely saw anybody. Those that did know he was there called him the hermit. His name was all but forgotten.

Feeling satisfied from his dinner, he lay down on the crude cot in the corner of the room, and gazed up at the ceiling. He often wondered how many more storms it would survive, but his workmanship as a younger man had proven effective. His hut had survived through everything with him, had seen off the hard years, just as he had.

His eyelids fell limp, and it wasn't long before he was snoring, sleeping deeply as he always did. And as the sun rose gently over the horizon, so too did Gerylde depart from the land of dreams. But his rising was sudden and panicked.

Where was it? What had he done with it? Had he lost it out in the forest?

He jumped out of bed, and began turning over all of his possessions in a desperate search. What the hell had he done with it? It must be somewhere!

His hut was a mess, and he was no closer to finding it. Frustrated, he sat down on a stool, shut his eyes, and tried to concentrate, to think about where he may have left it. He searched his memories for any sign of it, for an indication of where he may have put it. Hidden it perhaps.

Then it occurred to him. What was he looking for?

He sighed and walked outside. Whatever it was, it must be out there somewhere.

It was a pleasant morning. Sunny and warm, with a light breeze. Perfect. It was exactly why he lived out there all alone in Rordynne Forest. The wind rustling through the deep green leaves of the tall trees, the numerous birds singing in harmony, and the calls of animals ringing through the dawn. It made him feel happy; his meagre possessions were not important, only that sensation he felt every morning when he realised he was exactly where he wanted to be.

He glanced around, searching in all directions for whatever it was he was looking for. He was certain he would know what it was just as soon as he found it.

The old hermit wandered in the direction that felt right, keen eyes darting between the trees. He wasn't worried about getting lost. After so many years in the forest, he knew every tree personally. He'd named many of them. He'd had conversations with some of them too, though he wouldn't admit that to Ryleine lest she pack him up and move him to her cabin. He knew the trees didn't talk back, but that didn't mean that they weren't good at listening. And occasionally, he had plenty to tell them.