Haerolt took up his staff and pulled himself from the lowering boulder in the ground. He was not far from the path thankfully. Not that it was a very clear trail nor that it it was easy to follow, but it would at least prove to lead him somewhere. Yet were it not for Queen Malaena he would never have had the final chance to seek something greater in his life. Of all things that knew, it were his bones that groan and creaked at every minute maneuver.

However, he would not let the aches and pains discourage him from the quest. There were new places to discover and just through the forest was likely to be the white waters of the Earstmoch. Thus he marched on. Through lurching branches, dangling thorn-vines, and the pads of ivy atop the trail. Setting foot off the trail would be a worse matter as he would truly have no chance to move about with the yet denser foliage about.

As the sun waned in the day, Haerolt grew more weary and the ache of his bones screamed that he stop. But there was a voice in the forest, which had infused in him long ago, urging him to march forth. He was not one to disregard the Forest Father’s wishes, even though his own body did so against him.

Haerolt hiked on through the sharp stabs and pricks thoughout his entire body. The sun had but dropped another two hours. Yet the Forest Father’s yearning grew ever stronger.

He broke through the Dense Wood with his staff, coming out of the tree line, and into an open pad of tall grasses. It bothered him a tinge that no one had tried to scyth the area, but then he gulped at the fact that there must have been no one around to do so. In fact, what stood before him, no more that thirty strides ahead, was a great wall that had been reduced to rubble which was interlaced with the thickest thorn vines he had ever laid an eye upon.

Haerolt approached the tall walls. At their lowest point they were but as tall as two men, yet at their highest would peek above the surrounding trees. Not that there were any men there to adorn the few ramparts that still stood. All the while, he had not delved too close as the thorns themselves where ginormous. They were the lengths of swords and daggers, and sharper than any well shaven need of bone. The staves of vine they protruded from were as fat as the trunks of young pines.

The old man stumbled about the tall rubble until he came across what used to stand a great gate. Instead, vines wrapped and weaved into one another to form their own thorny barrier. Haerolt then lifted his staff and spake unto the Forest Father, sapping what little energy he had left to move the thicket. In but a moment the vines creaked and squeaked, splitting the barbed gate in twain.

It was not cracked open wide, but there would be enough space for him to walk past without being speared. That was if his aching bones would allow him to move. All the spent energy in summoning the Forest Father’s might always pained his knees, stiffening them into stones. Yet in his growing age the might came to affect his every joint.

Nonetheless, Haerolt creaked onward. The sharp, grinding of his joints was not enough to keep him from this great discovery.

Through the ancient gateway held together by the constricting vines were slithering roads of flat river rocks embedded in dark soil. Stout houses of hewn red stones wrapped along each of the streets. Ivy and moss spackled many of the walls and covered every black tile of the slate roofs. All the while numerous trees sprouted in the courtyards of and in between the alleys of each house.

The air around was thick and fresh, a faint, moist scent of herbs and flowers crept down the back of his throat. Orange rays of the waning sun cut through the canopies that shaded him from above. Although not a soul was abound here, he felt a radiance of life.

Haerolt took his fist steps along the stoned path, and what seems to be rough and uneven was far more cushioned and fair than a well trodden dirt trail. To which the pains in his bones eased to a meager discomfort.

Marching on he passed along what proved to be the smaller houses, for as he strover further into the town the old homes grew larger and with two or more courtyards. At a rather open spot where all the twisiting and turning paths seemed to converge, was a wide, gnarled oak tree. As Haerolt stepped closer a swell of verdant mist in his chest spoke to him as the Forest Father urging him forth.

What seemed as a thick trunk that swayed in stange ways and branches that swirled around in wild directions, proved more ascendant upon greater discernment. Beneath the rough, mossy bark was the figure of a woman. Roots spread from her splayed feet and toes. Knots were placed at her knees and arms that were tangled in with one another. Branches spread out from her fingers and her mouth was a small, gaping hole as though she were summoning a great force of might. The swirling force of the branches ended at glinting leaves with silver bellies and vibrantly green tops. Her countenance was bright, face plump and eyes shut tight in a pure bliss.

However, a deep, dark sense of foreboding resonated through his once again aching bones. The Forest Father wished to clarify truths. So Haerolt stepped ever closer to the tree. Yet as he did so his knees buckled at a shattering pain that forced a scream from him. It would take much might to reach such understanding.

Even though the pains throbbed through leg and gut, even up to his chest, there was not much time until he was to pass into the earth anyway. Haerolt dragged himself forward, carving a path of desperately clawing hands and trail of a burdened, old body. Now lacerating pains and thundering aches surged through every measure of his flesh and bone. Yet if this be the end it would be worth knowing some truth of these lost people before sinking back to dust.

At the foot of the tree, he set his hand upon the rooted feet of the ancient woman. Bright silvery flashes burned through his skin and shot into his heart. A visage of the woman came to view as she stood among many others. They were not the same as he, yet their emotions could have been, in a different life.

It was then that a familiar locking of his joints overcame him, but he led his focus back to truth. She seemed to be an outcast. On she sang some song in a beautiful, alluring tongue that he had never known. The others shouted in vain with similar sounding words.

Now his skin grew tight and cracked. Something grew from it, or perhaps formed upon him. Regardless, he continued to take in the silver light. The woman was singing up at the glittering stars, all the while the others hung their eyes low. Then she began to become covered in a wondrous dress of rich greens and pale browns. Her body froz yet her song carried on. The others had gone to shadow and there was nothing more than the silver light of the very stars above.

He too was showered in their light, Shade never coming to take him away.