He decided that some hard labor might clear his head, or at least warm his blood. The sky was rosy, lit by the rising sun. No direct sunlight had found the deep valley shadow depths yet, but there was enough light to work by. He took the ax that Hyden’s uncle had given them and made his way out into the woods.
He found an open clearing with a still standing, yet dead pine tree, at its edge. He decided that he was far enough away from the camp that the noise shouldn’t bother the others. After unbuckling Ironspike and laying it out of the way, he started to chop down the old tree.
Mikahl’s steady, and repetitive chopping, brought Vaegon awake after a while. His elven vision might be ruined, but his other senses were the keener for it. The idea of having to actually chop a tree went against all his elven beliefs. He could tell by the sound the steel ax head made, as it thumped into the wood, that the tree had died a few winters ago. The horror the sound might have caused him was thankfully avoided.
Curious as to why a castle born man might be chopping wood, especially when they had all agreed the night before to find a more suitable campsite to spend the next few nights, Vaegon bundled in his fur cloak, and trekked out after the sound.
Just as he stepped into the clearing, the long, straight shaft of the dead pine started its slow, creaking arc down toward the open ground. The thick trunk slapped the ground hard, breaking off several of the branches that radiated out from it. It rolled slightly and finally settled.
Vaegon saw Mikahl wince at the loud crash, and the crunching noise of the breaking wood. Did the boy actually think he could quietly fell a tree?
Mikahl greeted him with a smile. Vaegon’s face must have shown his curiosity, because Mikahl answered his unasked question between chops, as he took the ax to the lower limbs that still remained.
“Hard work is a sure cure for a troubled mind,” Mikahl repeated the mantra that the old Weapons Master of Lakeside Castle had drilled into his head after his mother had died.
The ax fell again, and a piece of bark flew off to the side.
“I apologize if I woke you, Sir Vaegon.” Another chop, and this time a thick, white triangular piece of wood went spinning away. “Did I wake the others?” Another chop, then Mikahl put the ax head in the dirt, leaned on the shaft, and looked at the elf through troubled eyes.
“I don’t think so,” Vaegon replied with a dry smile. “It’s time to greet the day anyway.”
He held up a hand to stall the next swing of the ax. He had been tempted to add “your Majesty” to the end of his comment, but thought better of it. Instead, he clarified his feelings on the matter of titles right then and there.
“If you don’t want me to address you as your Highness, your majesty, or King Mikahl, then please quit calling me Sir Vaegon.” He chuckled, because he couldn’t help but end his little gripe with a bow and the sarcastic words, “If it pleases.”
Mikahl shook his head slowly, and a wry grin started to curl the edges of his mouth, but the effect of his next swing of the ax wiped the mirth away. The blow was hard enough, that it cleaved through the remaining half of the branch he had been working on.
“Point taken,” Mikahl huffed, and then let the ax fall to the ground.
He was about to take a seat on the trunk of the fallen tree, when the sharp crack of a small stick being stepped on, came from the forest at the clearing’s edge.
Instinctually, his hand went for Ironspike’s hilt. Panic raced through his body when he didn’t find it there. The sense of relief that came over him when Talon fluttered out of the woods where the sound had come from was overwhelming, because at the same moment he saw that it was the hawkling, he remembered where he had laid his father’s blade, and saw that it was still there.
Hyden stepped out of the woods and yawned. He looked at Mikahl curiously, letting his eyes take in the felled tree from top to bottom. Then, he turned his gaze on Vaegon, and shrugged.
“Kingdom folk,” he said, as if that explained everything.
Vaegon bit back a laugh. He couldn’t figure out how he could’ve ever hated the sometimes clever and witty humans. The elves were always so stern and serious, save for when they were celebrating. In contrast, these humans were determined to laugh and make light of the problems that weighed them down. Vaegon could never remember laughing and smiling so much as he had the last few days. Even with pain, sorrow, and uncertainty threatening to swallow them whole, they found a way to make each other smile. Vaegon wasn’t sure, but he was almost certain, that all humans weren’t this much fun to be around. He decided that he would catalog some of his curiosities today when he took time to write in his journal.
Hyden sat on the tree trunk; Talon swooped in, and landed on a branch beside him. Mikahl sat as well, and wiped the sweat from his brow. A light mist of steam radiated out from his skin up into the cool morning air.
“Did I wake the old man too?” Mikahl asked.
“He was sound asleep, and making more noise than you when I left him,” Hyden answered.