Disclaimer: These are Terry Brooks' characters and situations, not mine. All I offer is my own perspective.
7. Interlude
We ride all night, barely stopping to rest. It is an unspoken agreement between the two of us; we want to get as far away from the Tirfing as possible. I am still uncertain of how I feel about this strange Healer. On one hand, I find him to be dreadfully awkward and even a bit stuffy and traditionalist. I realize that this is somewhat ironic coming from an Elven princess of an almost terrifyingly old family, but really, there's only so far you can go before it borders on the downright ridiculous. He seems very unsure of himself, as if he has never truly had to depend on himself and his wits before. When we interact, I get the feeling that he is intensely nervous, and frankly, I can't blame him. We two are still essentially strangers, and yet we have been forced to travel together on a quest which may or may not claim our lives. If that's not a reason to be nervous, I don't know what is.
And yet, he shows signs of great courage which, properly nurtured, give me some idea of why Allanon chose him for this task. I remember that this man's grandfather is the famed Shea Ohmsford, the little valeman who recovered the Sword of Shannara at a time when its power of truth was needed the most. He would have grown up with the tales of his grandfather's adventures and perhaps dreamed of having his own one day. And why not? In the past fifty years the story has rapidly gained the status of legend. Or perhaps it is even greater than this, for the sheer fact that many of the people involved still walk in this world.
It is hard to forget that he knows as little of me as I know of him. In our travels I have tried to teach him of the ways of our people, teach him our ways, in an attempt to make him understand why I behave the way I do. Although I have forsaken it, the world in which I lived for so many years has shaped me. How has his world shaped him? I know that his parents are dead; I suspect that this is why he decided to become a Healer. Perhaps this is why he accepted the terrible task of guarding me when it would have been much easier to tell the Druid "No thank you, I have other plans today". I have seen enough of Allanon to know that he would not take "no" for an answer. However, the Druid is resourceful; it is likely that he could have found someone else. But regardless of this, Wil was—is—his first choice. Was it a trust in the blood of Shannara? A knowledge of this young man's personality based on years of subtle observation? Belief in a prophecy passed down through the Druid order to him, the last of them? I do not know, but slowly I am coming to realize that the selection of this valeman was not random or an act of blind faith. There is a depth to him, and a strength that I am only just beginning to see.
My reflections are cut short by an unmistakeable howl on the wind. Wil and I immediately tense, and Artaq gives a snort.
I don't know how they did it, but they have found us. The Demon-Wolves have again caught our scent.
A/N: I'm baack...you didn't seriously think I'd abandon this story (or my other ones, for that matter), did you? I admit it's been awhile, but I think I'm ready to get back into writing again. It's been an interesting few months, though, between my computer problems and then the fact that for whatever reason I just couldn't write. To the people who have read and/or reviewed this story before, I hope it's been worth the wait to see a new chapter again; there'll be a new one coming up soon, I promise. To any new readers that might happen to see this story, I hope it's been worth your time so far. Either way, I hope you enjoyed this, and I suspect that there will be more coming soon. :)