Mikahl hoped he hadn’t offended, or embarrassed Vaegon’s family. His intention had been to make the old elf aware that he disliked being guarded in the forest, when they might be bathing, eating a warm meal, or resting somewhere more comfortable. He also didn’t like the fact that the whole realm was currently threatened by some dark, and evil power, and the elves didn’t even seem to care.
“He says,” Vaegon started translating Em Davow’s words again. “He hopes that the evil we must face is swiftly defeated, and that after it is done, you might return. He hopes then that his tree can be open to you as it should be now.”
“Tell him,” Mikahl paused. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.
Em Davow was probably full of ancient wisdom. It showed in his deep, amber eyes. Now that Mikahl’s anger wasn’t clouding his mind, he wished the meeting had started differently. He could have gleaned a thing or two from the ancient elf, if he had been a bit more diplomatic. Now, he felt too awkward to ask anything of him.
“Tell him, thank you,” was all he could think of, as he took Ironspike back and quickly inserted it into its sheath, before its glow became pronounced.
He felt more than a little ashamed at his inability to keep his anger from controlling his mouth. In a feeble attempt to reconcile his rudeness, he put his right hand out, stepped up to Em Davow, and placed his palm over the old elf’s heart. Em Davow returned the gesture, and then made a deep, respectful head bow, which surprised Vaegon. The fact that Mikahl was Pavreal’s sole heir, the rightful King of, not only Westland, but of the entire Seven Kingdoms, didn’t slip past the old elf.
“I think it’s time for us to be on our way,” said Hyden.
“Yes,” Vaegon agreed.
He was relieved, and as pleased as he was surprised, at the way Mikahl and Em Davow’s exchange had ended. He took a moment to introduce his father to Mikahl, while the camp was being broken. It was a short affair, with only names, and the human gesture of clasping hands taking place, which was fine with Vaegon.
Hyden paused his rigging of Urp’s pack harness only long enough to make the palm to heart gesture with Deiter, who had come out of the woods to escort his father and Em Davow back to the Elven Heart.
Before they left, Drent gave Vaegon a palm-sized leather pouch, and hugged his son fiercely. A few more goodbyes were spoken, and then the companions climbed onto the backs of the restless wolves and disappeared into the forest night.
Mikahl couldn’t help but reflect on the way Vaegon and his father had said farewell. It had seemed as if they both knew that they would never see each other again, or something equally as drastic. The idea of it left a hollow feeling in Mikahl’s gut that didn’t go away until long after the sun had filled the sky again.
They rode swiftly around the massive tree trunks of the deeper forest, over shrubs, and through silvery moonlit glades. Dawn broke quickly, but the wolves paid it no heed. They ran until well after midday, when the stored energy of the last few idle days started to wear off, and the heat started to get to them.
A mossy, pebble strewn creek ran through the forest where they stopped, and while the wolves lapped up bellies full of its cool water, Vaegon began making a ring of stones for a cook fire. He wasted no time gathering up some dead fall, and setting it to blazing. Then, he curiously took out a small tin pot from a pack he had taken from home, and began boiling water.
Huffa and Urp went off to hunt, and Hyden followed them for a while, from above, through Talon’s vision. Feeling the hawklings hunger, Hyden had the bird inspect the area around the camp. Once he was satisfied that there were no immediate dangers about, he let Talon go hunt for his own meal.
The hawkling had grown quite a bit, and was nearing full size. His appetite was amazing. Talon could eat most of a rabbit now in a single sitting, and be hungry again only a few hours later. It made sense though, Hyden thought. Talon’s outstretched wings were almost as wide as Hyden’s open arms, and if the hawkling were to stand on the ground beside him, its head would be just above his knees. The incredible amount of energy it took to sustain flight through the dense Evermore required a good bit of sustenance. There were no warm thermals to glide upon when racing through the trees with the Great Wolves.
“Here,” Vaegon offered Hyden a small tin cup of aromatic tea.
Mikahl was already sipping from his. The little leather pouch Drent had given his son, was lying open on a flat stone, and a smattering of dark leaves could be seen inside. The ingredients of this drink, Hyden could only guess. It was tart, but refreshing. It seemed to reach down into the nooks and crannies of Hyden’s body, and cleanse away the grit that had collected there over the years. After only a few sips, he found he was relaxed in a way he had never been before: not tired, yet soothed and content.
“I apologize to you all,” Vaegon said to them.