All Chapters of Mægics Heir: Druid Quest: Chapter 1 - Chapter 6

Ètœn Bearheart had been in the saddle near to twelve turns of a sand-glass, from sunrise to dusk. Near now to his journey’s end, a destination he alone knew, not Druid, nor Aeglèsia. Their wish, not his, for he carried a burden not at all certain he could bear.He had sworn an Oath on all that he held dear and Ètœn Bearheart would be ever faithful to his word and loyal to a fault, his heart steadfast and true to his name.  So, he would keep his Oath, as he held dear the love felt for the woman to whom he had sworn it.From crushing waves of the Great Eastern Sea crashing against granite cliffs upon which the Druid’s Keep stood, to the foothills of  the Shadow Mountains, braced against the Great Western Sea. He had travelled the very breadth of Aeryth. Having left sparse-of-tree slopes and grassy knolls betwixt high rocky mountains,  arriving know to a land of thick forest and rivers and lush mountainsides. A place more akin to Ètœn’s childhood homestead la

 I awoke on the morrow’s morn and my internal biological clock had worked for me in its flawless manner. Da would bring the wagon filled with ice a little later. So, after morn chores, I set out on foot toward Grayces homestead. Da was leaving out for the Frost-Cellar already. He had harnessed Bregœ, his stallion of twenty-some-year. The same stallion Da had arrived to Middenvale on, more than eleven years past. Bregœ being unhappy to be left out of Da’s excursions of late insisted he come. Even if harnessed to a wagon, he remained a proud horse from a great line of warhorses and stood 21-hands-tall. A Silver gelding bred for strength, stamina, and intelligence, he would let nobody but Da ride nor harness him. Getting old, still the horse’s love for Da was palpable and he made it known that he would not be left behind on our trips into towne.Myself, I set off at a strong pace with the shoulder bag, contemplating finishing my pack, incorporating Da’s new sugge

I recalled my first significant year-end gifting came at my nine-year-end. Midyear, when the big storms typically come to our homestead, I had learned the reason Da had dragged the Ænt-wood log to the top of Fork-Rock. Oft-times climbing the hill sized boulder to study Da’s log, I would a’times, lean against it as I read the books I’d borrow from the schoolhouse.  Da’s Ænt-wood log had been hauled all the way from Moon Lake. I practiced my reading out where no animals came bothering me and I had plenty of light.  The Ænt-wood log was a curious thing. A deep walnut color with streaks of blonde throughout, the log didn’t have the appearance of wood at all. It had no bark and was as hard as rock. I tried carving into it a’times, being unable to leave as much as a scratch. Da said the tree it came from had likely died hundreds of years ago and the species no longer existed alive in any forest. He said legend and lore held that the tree was a ‘sentient’ t