Page 47 of Whispers of the Elderoak

He nodded and walked away, needing to be alone.

He found a fallen log in the forest near the edge of the farm and sat down, breathing deeply and waiting for his glow to fade. He hated the way that magic felt as it snaked across his skin, hated the reminder of how he had failed so many years ago. Retrieving a small carving from his pocket, one he carried everywhere he went, he exhaled and stared at it. It was a fox which he had meticulously carved himself, a hobby of his that brought him peace.

He caressed its head. “I’m sorry, Elara,” he said, whispering to himself.

Casimir hadn’t struggled with memories from that time in many years. But with the return of the daemon queen and that child in danger, it all came rushing back. As if the wound he thought was healed had been reopened, shame and anger pouring out.

After some time, the crunch of leaves underfoot sounded as someone approached. He placed the fox back into his pocket as Jorrar sat down next to him.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I froze.”

“Everyone freezes now and then.”

Staring straight ahead, Casimir replied, “If Raine hadn’t called my name… The girl… she would have died.”

“But she didn’t. Thanks to you.”

He sighed, placing his hands beside him on the log and stretching his legs out in front of him. “Does it get any easier?” he asked Jorrar.

“Does what get any easier?”

“Carrying the burdens of failure. The loss of loved ones. All of it,” he whispered, looking at the sky through the canopy. The reminders of his past were making themselves known and he was overwhelmed with the feel of it all. “I thought I had moved past it.”

Jorrar leaned forward, arms on his knees as he thought. “I don’t know that we ever move past the death of those we love.” He paused. “And I don’t think it gets easier. You just get better at living with it.”

“And how do you?” Casimir turned toward him. “Live with it.”

Jorrar sat back up. “I focus on those that I love. The ones that are still here. And try to find joy in small things. The pitter patter of rain on the roof; the laughter of a child; the taste of a fresh berry tart; being with my friends.”

Jorrar rose, patting Casimir on the shoulder, and began to walk back to town.

Casimir called after him. “And that’s enough?”

Jorrar stopped, looking at him over his shoulder. “It has to be.”

17

Something hard hit Ava in the face and she lifted her head from the pole as she opened her eyes. It hit her again, this time on the side of her head and she jerked to her right, searching for the source.

“Pssst.” The prisoner in the cage next to her was throwing pebbles, trying to get her attention. “Good. You’re awake,” he said as Ava met his eyes.

“I am now. That hurt.”

“Sorry,” he said in a high-pitched, scratchy voice.

She looked at the prisoner. He was much shorter than most human adults, broad and stocky but the height of a child. His skin was a mossy green, peppered with bumps and warts, and his face would not be considered handsome by most standards. His teeth were crooked, eyes full of mischief and he had long pointed ears. He was thin and malnourished, with tattered clothing that didn’t cover much above his waist.

“I’m Remy,” he whispered. “What’s your name?”

Keeping her voice quiet, she answered, “Ava. What is this place? Where are we?”

“You aren’t from here, are you?”

“No.”

Well, technically she was. But she wasn’t going to explain that to a stranger.

---