While he was working, Vaegon heard the trees whisper of the great evil they were feeling among their roots. The wyvern’s blood was in the soil now, and they feared what it would do to them. They could sense that the unnatural beast’s presence in the world was just the beginning of something far worse.
Vaegon listened, and a tiny speck of fear took root in his heart as well. It was no mountain-born wyvern that he had killed this day. That thing was evil and born in a place unnatural; a place from which things shouldn’t be allowed to escape. He understood then that some great dark force had let it and the hellcat loose, and just as the trees feared, far worse was more than likely on its way.
The next day, when the three companions came to the clearing to bury Loudin, they found the strangest of things. In the middle of the clearing, a perfect circle of fragrant blue flowers had grown overnight. The center of the circle was exactly where Ironspike had pierced the earth after Loudin had thrown it, and the whole thing was easily twenty paces across. Mikahl chose that spot to bury his friend. The sign of the good cross that the sword had made, as it wavered there, was fresh in his mind. He felt it would be an ill omen to bury the hunter anywhere else.
The coincidence that he had met Loudin in a clearing, not unlike this one, wasn’t lost on Mikahl either. Where that glade had had a pond, full of sparkling water, this one had an island of magical flowers. It was thoughts like this that kept Mikahl from breaking down as they piled up a great mound of stones over the grave.
The chore was done, slowly and carefully, so as to avoid damaging the flowers around the burial mound. When it was done, even the trees blessed the old hunter’s passing. The magic from the sword, that had leeched into the soil and caused the sapphire blooms to suddenly erupt, had also spread through the earth, and eaten away the corrosive power of the wyvern’s black blood. Vaegon heard the trees whisper a promise to watch over the sacred place, and told his companions as much as they returned to the camp just after dark.
That night, they started using a watch system. Vaegon would be first, then Hyden, then Mikahl. Mikahl insisted on being last. He didn’t explain why and no one asked.
The next morning, as dawn lit the valley shadows, they learned the reason. The young Westlander was going through a furious series of workouts with his softly glowing blade. Hyden and Vaegon both woke, and watched, with respectful awe, as Mikahl went through grueling combinations of slashes, thrusts, and turns, each more strenuous, and graceful than the last. When he was done, he bowed deeply to the four corners of the compass, and even managed a thin smile at the others, as he toweled himself off with one of Loudin’s old shirts.
Through the darkened part of his watch, Mikahl had tried to adapt the sheath from Duke Fairchild’s sword to fit Ironspike’s blade. He managed to work its narrower width so that he could slide his blade down to the bottom, but it was still a hand’s width too short. When the belt was around his waist, a small part of Ironspike’s blade rose glowing up out of it, and the pommel rubbed at his ribs uncomfortably, but it would have to do for now. Ironspike’s scabbard was gone.
After breaking their fast on some dried meat and stream water, Vaegon grew tired of watching Mikahl fiddle with the ill-fitting scabbard, and excused himself from the camp. With a troubled look on his face, he trekked out into the forest, and disappeared.
Hyden was lying down. He appeared to be asleep, but he wasn’t. Talon was out exploring the valley, and through the hawkling’s senses, Hyden was soaring with him.
The old wolf mother had made it out of the ravine with her two pups in tow. She had managed to kill a slow hopper for them to eat. Hyden observed them from the branches of a nearby tree, as they picked the bones clean, and then crunched them between the teeth.
Satisfied that they would be all right, he and Talon circled high, and soared over the whole valley. Movement, not too far from the camp, caught the bird’s keen eyes, and sent mild alarms jangling up Hyden’s spine. He was glad he didn’t react rashly and get Mikahl all excited, because it was only the elf. Vaegon was walking around, mumbling to the trees in a sort of half-dazed state. Not wanting to intrude on his friend’s privacy, Hyden and Talon flew on.