14 - Solitary

At their backs, the Frostback Mountains loomed large on the horizon, a line of sharp teeth snapping viciously at the sky. The travelers had left behind the rocky slopes where nothing grew except weeds and low, scraggly bushes, and crossed into level territory. Icy streams carved deep grooves in the earth as they trekked slowly towards Lake Calenhad, except in the spring when the waters swelled with snowmelt and flooded their banks. The land was fertile and trees were abundant, but there wasn't a proper forest, certainly nothing like the Brecilian.

Mahariel buried what was left of the rabbits beneath the roots of a struggling oak. He murmured a prayer in the ancient tongue, brushing away pine needles and dead leaves until his hands broke through packed dirt to the moist soil below. The entrails were not fit for consumption, but they would nurture the tree, encourage new growth. Nothing was wasted.

After the last words had fallen from his lips, he leaned against the trunk, pressing his forehead into the rough bark. If he breathed steady and deep, he could pretend that was back with his clan, living a pure, simple life synced to the slow cycle of the seasons. He could pretend that nothing else mattered except these timeless moments, alone in the dark woods.

Mahariel closed his eyes.