Chieftan Frey stood at the heart of Beastwood, this part of the forest off-limits except in the case of a trial. The old pines creaked in a chill breeze. A man knelt before her.
“As son of the chief, you understand you don’t have to do this?”
“I know,” Braega’s voice was quiet and cracked, the life-long reminder of a wound from his childhood, “but there are things I need to know.”
“And if you fail?” It was all Frey could do to hold her words steady. She was battle-hardened from years of protecting her own, but this was her last living son and the forest was cruel at this time of year. “You’re prepared for the consequences?”
“That would be an answer too.” It was hard to place his tone, though Braega couldn’t look his mother in the eyes as he spoke.
“Three days.” She began to leave, though she hesitated, just for a moment, “And.. Good luck.”