“Go get the rest of your friends and go eat some food. I’ll be down later to fetch some for Greta,” he added.
“We no longer have any others,” Kestrel told him, making the smile disappear. “They had all traveled the way that imps do and they were away when the sun went bright. Now they cannot come back – the sun has disrupted their ways of traveling,” he summarized.
After giving assurances that they believed everyone was fine, the three visitors left the cabin of the young family. The sun was low on the horizon, red in color naturally, beyond the stains that marred its face, and the whole village was cast in a lurid color as Kestrel and company went in search of the roast meat for their dinner.
“What kind of plan do you have now? None?” Wren asked minutes later, when they sat on a bench and ate greasy chunks of goat meat cut from the large, roasting carcass.
“We will talk to the village leaders in the morning, and ask for them to appoint a guide,” he said simply. “And then we will go on our way.”
He thought of Putienne, alone in Oaktown without him. By that time she was surely aware that she could not return. She either was with imps who told her, or none had appeared to carry her back to the gnome village. She was probably as upset by the separation as he was, he suspected.
“Let’s go back to our cabin,” he told the others. He wiped his hands on the bench as he stood, then led the way back to the cabin. They set no watch, and eventually, each of them quietly mulling their turbulent thoughts, they fell asleep.
Chapter 7
Kestrel was the second to awaken in the morning.
“Get up lazy head,” Wren prodded his shoulder. “Let’s go see if there’s any meat left on that goat carcass for breakfast.”
Kestrel sat up, and called for Stillwater, who was floating up at the peak of the ceiling.
The three companions strolled through the morning streets, as gnomes passed them on their ways about their duties, under the red tint of the rising sun.
The coals of the fire beneath the goat were cold, but Wren and the others casually plucked bits of meat to start their day, then sat and talked.
“We need to wait until it’s an appropriate time to find the village elders,” Kestrel said.
“We should go see Greta and Hansen,” Wren advised.
Her suggestion seemed agreeable to them all, so they walked back through the village and knocked on the door. A cheerful-looking Hansen opened it and invited them in.
Greta had moved from the bed to a chair, one that had blankets and pillows providing cushioning. She sat upright, her two infants each suckling at her bosom, and she smiled happily at the sight of her visitors.
“They slept all the night through,” she reported happily.
The visitors sat and listened to the young parents describe in exacting detail the events of their first evening with children.
“So, tell us about what you’re up to,” Greta said at length.
“We hope the village elders will appoint a guide today to lead us on the path back to the lake in the mountains, to shut off the Viathins,” Kestrel replied.
“Let me take you to my father, to remind him of your request,” Hansen said.
“You will not be the guide,” Greta said to her husband in a forceful tone. “If I can’t go, you can’t go, though I don’t think I ever want to see that place again. I’ll never forget how wonderful it was when the gods appeared, but it was so frightening before that, with the monsters all around and their god fighting Kestrel! It was a horrible time!” she exclaimed.
Hansen stood. “It was frightening, but perhaps this time will not be such a trial for Kestrel and his companions, I hope. Let me lead them to the elders,” he said, and after a kiss for each member of his family, he took the travelers out into the village.
The conversation with Hansen’s father Proetec was surprisingly short. He led
“We no longer have any others,” Kestrel told him, making the smile disappear. “They had all traveled the way that imps do and they were away when the sun went bright. Now they cannot come back – the sun has disrupted their ways of traveling,” he summarized.
After giving assurances that they believed everyone was fine, the three visitors left the cabin of the young family. The sun was low on the horizon, red in color naturally, beyond the stains that marred its face, and the whole village was cast in a lurid color as Kestrel and company went in search of the roast meat for their dinner.
“What kind of plan do you have now? None?” Wren asked minutes later, when they sat on a bench and ate greasy chunks of goat meat cut from the large, roasting carcass.
“We will talk to the village leaders in the morning, and ask for them to appoint a guide,” he said simply. “And then we will go on our way.”
He thought of Putienne, alone in Oaktown without him. By that time she was surely aware that she could not return. She either was with imps who told her, or none had appeared to carry her back to the gnome village. She was probably as upset by the separation as he was, he suspected.
“Let’s go back to our cabin,” he told the others. He wiped his hands on the bench as he stood, then led the way back to the cabin. They set no watch, and eventually, each of them quietly mulling their turbulent thoughts, they fell asleep.
Chapter 7
Kestrel was the second to awaken in the morning.
“Get up lazy head,” Wren prodded his shoulder. “Let’s go see if there’s any meat left on that goat carcass for breakfast.”
Kestrel sat up, and called for Stillwater, who was floating up at the peak of the ceiling.
The three companions strolled through the morning streets, as gnomes passed them on their ways about their duties, under the red tint of the rising sun.
The coals of the fire beneath the goat were cold, but Wren and the others casually plucked bits of meat to start their day, then sat and talked.
“We need to wait until it’s an appropriate time to find the village elders,” Kestrel said.
“We should go see Greta and Hansen,” Wren advised.
Her suggestion seemed agreeable to them all, so they walked back through the village and knocked on the door. A cheerful-looking Hansen opened it and invited them in.
Greta had moved from the bed to a chair, one that had blankets and pillows providing cushioning. She sat upright, her two infants each suckling at her bosom, and she smiled happily at the sight of her visitors.
“They slept all the night through,” she reported happily.
The visitors sat and listened to the young parents describe in exacting detail the events of their first evening with children.
“So, tell us about what you’re up to,” Greta said at length.
“We hope the village elders will appoint a guide today to lead us on the path back to the lake in the mountains, to shut off the Viathins,” Kestrel replied.
“Let me take you to my father, to remind him of your request,” Hansen said.
“You will not be the guide,” Greta said to her husband in a forceful tone. “If I can’t go, you can’t go, though I don’t think I ever want to see that place again. I’ll never forget how wonderful it was when the gods appeared, but it was so frightening before that, with the monsters all around and their god fighting Kestrel! It was a horrible time!” she exclaimed.
Hansen stood. “It was frightening, but perhaps this time will not be such a trial for Kestrel and his companions, I hope. Let me lead them to the elders,” he said, and after a kiss for each member of his family, he took the travelers out into the village.
The conversation with Hansen’s father Proetec was surprisingly short. He led
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