With one hand grasping the thick, wiry pelt of Thornberg’s huge brown bear; Bamse and the other wrapped in the reassuring, softer fur of his own hound; Mir Hundur, Liga Bur, after what seems like hours of silent plodding through vague, formless, earthy nothingness, follows the towering Thornberg out of the magical ‘Green path’ and feels the gentle rays of sunshine warmly kiss his face.
Unsure what to expect; Liga Bur had agreed to Thornberg's 'price' out of a weird feeling that it was somehow fated to be, as much as a way to save his friends from a potentially unwinnable battle. The bright sunlight momentarily dazzles him, but as his eyes adjust, he's pleased to see the old, winged dog; Dawk and the handsome adolescent fox sitting beneath the arching trees, waiting for him on the path, both of their tails wagging.
After stroking each of them on the undersides of their upturned chins, the big, bearded Druid guides Liga Bur to a beautifully tended glade, with a massive circle of stone Menhir’s arranged like pillars. There’s a small pool of crystal clear water and a comfortable looking thatched, wooden cabin slightly distant. Liga Bur notices the new, small and vibrantly coloured wildflowers freshly emerged from the lush and fertile soil; it’s Spring here… Wherever ‘here’ is?
It’s only then, that Thornberg finally speaks. His voice is deep and gravelly, like a man who doesn’t speak often and has grown unaccustomed to it.
“This is to be your home for a while. These four animals; my bear, your hound, the hawk-dog and the fox will be your companions and I will be your teacher and guide. Despite your, surprisingly thorough, basic training in the 'Green' arts, you still have much to learn, and although you must forsake your bow and your lance, this is far from a prison sentence. Rather than a punishment, I will share the secrets of our Druidic order and perhaps, over time, we will become friends. I do not say this lightly, for all our obvious differences, I believe in you. I believe in you because of the reports from my Satyr friend; Magritte, the Centaur Prince; Tsigane and the Frost giant; Droofin. I believe in you because this little adolescent fox and this elderly hawk-dog didn't just vouch for you; they championed you.”
The training is difficult but rewarding and as Spring passes into Summer, Liga Bur watches with pride as the little fox grows from cub to bold, young Reynard.
The Summer seems long, but the company is good and the initially intimidating; Thornberg turns out to be a surprisingly kind and patient man.
Summer turns to Autumn and with it the realisation that the grey in the muzzle of the old Dawk has spread all the way down to his rudder-like tail and his movements have become slow and hesitant.
Winter finally arrives and the snow that falls can't mask the sadness as the athritic Dawk finally succumbs to old-age.
Mir Hundur, the now adult fox and the great bear; Bamse all howl in the moonlight, as Thornberg lays the wrapped body of the strange, hybrid creature into the freshly dug ground. Liga Bur can’t hide his tears for this silly, brave and gentle soul. He’d grown fond of the kind-hearted creature and although he understood everything mortal has to die, the pain of the loss takes him back to everything and everyone he’d already lost and his heart breaks anew.
The bulky, brown-robed Thornberg places his muddy but reassuringly heavy hand on Liga Bur's shoulder.
"This is your final lesson. For every summer, there must be a winter. For every day, there must be a night. For every birth, there must be a death. For this is the way of balance and, now a full year has passed, you have finally earned entry into the Circle of the Scale."
epic, bravo
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