True Sight

I have misread the stars. It takes great effort and many years to contemplate the certainties of the celestial with exactness, and through determined study I believed that I was correct. The war was a war of men, of wizards; it did not belong to us. Firenze had long sought to entwine the fates of the centaurs with the wizards, but had they not limited our grounds? Did they not seek to deprive us of our land, that which had been ours for centuries?

It must have been my anger that colored my view, distracted me from true sight. The evil one had come to our forest; there was no denying it, as he and his followers built a fire. We centaurs watched from a distance, as we had dealt with the evil one before. He had promised that our lands would be restored, that once again the domain of the centaurs would be limitless. The truth was not upon him, as surely as the sun restores the day and banishes the knowledge of night. We did not side with one group of wizards, why should we believe the other? It was a choice of one futile, brief existence for a different futile, brief existence. The time of wizards and men is as brief as a single revolution of the sun to centaurs. It would be done in the blink of an eye. The universe holds many things which are yet unknown to men, but we centaurs can read the heavens.

The ascendance of Mars foretold of battle, that battle would come, but who was to say when? Mars does not talk in the vulgar exactness of men, only we centaurs truly understand how time and space is shaped. Firenze believed that Mars spoke to him of a great battle that would tilt the very universe itself, but he is young, impatient and overly bold. He left after seeing the evil one in the Forest. We did not follow.

When the bearded-one said my name as we watched from deep comfort of the trees, a young one dead in his arms, I knew that stars had veiled their knowledge. We watched the young one walked into death, willingly give himself to the cosmos. Now the stars told me a different tale; the heavens had not changed, but I peered through the mist with clarity. After the bearded-one went to the castle, we stood in silence. All faces searched the stars for guidance, but there was no new vision. The stars were quiet. The bearded-one's words rang in my ears, accusing the centaurs of passivity, of inaction. I was not happy the young one, Harry, was dead. My herd looked to me and I ignored the stars. The time of deliberateness was over. The centaurs would act.

Many of the evil one's followers fled beneath our bows. How our arrows sang in the air! Our hooves thundered upon the ground, a charge that has not been seen in many, many moons. When the young one, Harry, regained his feet I ceased moving. This had not been foretold, the stars spoke only of death, yet the young one was as new as the moon. After the evil one fell, let no one say the centaurs did not play their part. Firenze lay injured, many were lost, but I retreated in solitude to the forest.

The stars had spoken but I had not listened. I, Bane, had misread the stars.