a small fire crackled and popped, licking the cold air with its flames. in a forested country such as duskwood, twigs and branches were actually hard to come by. the trees were massive, with thick trunks and monstrous crowns blocking the entire sky. you could never tell whether it was day or night, but for the people it didn’t matter. the terrors crawling the woods did not care to plan their attacks according to the position of the sun up in the sky; naive prey was easy to come by regardless. the bushes, with their withered and crunchy leaves, were good enough to hold a fire for a few hours however --- crucial time between life and death. circling the snapping flames, the four boys either held onto their ragged leather pelts or kept their frozen hands close for a little warmth, dreading their misfortune. it had happened so quickly.
“how’s your leg, dusty?” the lack of concern in J’s voice may have been received as appalling on another occasion, but now nobody cared. they all hoped for the safety of darkshire. “i mean, that’s what you get for thinking with your fucking stomach,” his impassive intonation did not falter, not even for a fleeting second. dusty had strayed from the road and wandered into the woods to catch a wild rabbit, when a dire wolf had cut his path. white fangs alike freshly sharpened blades butchered the boy’s leg, ripping a chunk of flesh and even piercing his bone. the screech reeked of death and danger and it had taken all of them to push the beast away, J shooting it right between its eyes with his pistol and the limp-footed watchman cutting its head off with his axe. death was never the last step in these woods. dragging the animal’s corpse north to the river bank would have stirred greater dangers lurking about, and they couldn’t burn it in the middle of the forest either. they could only hope that the wolf would stay dead.
“you’re one to talk,” dusty moaned in pain, trying to bring his injured leg closer to the fire. the watchman did his best to clean the wound and wrap it in a piece of coarse linen cloth, but he was no doctor and if they lingered for too long, the bite would become infected. truthfully, the wild beasts of duskwood carried unknown diseases even to the most skilled of healers, but the old man held a little mercy in his heart not to tell the boy. by sunrise, dusty would be dead. somehow the other boys caught on that as well, but remained silent as a grave. “that was one fat rabbit. i could have made a nice stew out of it. a little lean meat, a few wild berries to have something else to crunch on, some roots for flavour... you would have liked it. you would have eaten it too. i’m no cook, but my mom taught me a few things. when we get to darkshire, i’ll get better. i’m not made for fighting, you see. but i could help the night’s watch in other ways.” another groan filled the silence and nobody said a word anymore.
dozens of feet away from the main road and sheltered by the hem of the foothills, the camp shudders, the chill of the night creeping into every bone. slithering north up a gravelled slope, the pathway winds under the trees unseen, towards the great trunk towering above everything else. a grisly sight J used to catch on the eastern horizon, freakish and grotesque and basked in mystery, yet no one in the brotherhood bothered to ever enlighten him. it had always looked out of place to the young boy and now he was closer to it than ever. the watchman softly snored in the distance, a sharpened sword carefully rested atop his lap, fingers clenched around the rusted hilt, as if he’d stand up to fight in any second. he probably knew about the strange tree and J felt greatly curious, but he knew that even their guide, as seasoned as he was, needed his rest. the survival of the injured runt and the other boys depended on him. “i know what you’re thinking. i saw you glaring,” roel taunted him, a dumb grin spreading on his face. “i know what that tree is.” too proud for his own good, he almost stumbled on his own words, the lies seeping out of his mouth alike poison. “they say it’s cursed.”
“everything forbidden is cursed for a small mind.” the watchman coughed and trudged closely, awoken from his light sleep by the constant bickering of the boys. as if he hadn’t even noticed them, he plopped on the ground, dragging himself towards the fire with a long, tired expression. “it’s the elvish tree,” he spoke at last, not even sparing a glance to look up from the crackling flames. “it happened a long time ago. long before the line of arathor founded the kingdom of strom. the black blood of the old gods still taints the deepest pits of the earth, corruption spreading like the deadliest diseases. to stem the tide of this poisoned blood, a night elf ripped a branch from the world tree itself and planted smaller trees around azeroth. it’s said that this is one o’ them. massive for us, but still tiny saplings compared to nordrassil. it’s even said they’re direct entrances into what druid call the emerald dream. the purest realm this planet holds, where you can see azeroth the way it should look like. just grass, trees, wild beasts. no man to twist the lands to his selfish needs.”
nordrassil. the name ignites a void in his stomach he thought he had forgotten how to feel, but it is there, that endless pit he could never find a meaning for. “all i know about my parents is that they died at the hem of nordrassil. they went to war and never came back. crown of the heavens. i’ve heard is the most majestic thing you could ever put your eyes on. that tree stops the skies from crushing us and holds the ground under our feet with its strong roots so that it won’t slip away. one day i’ll get there. i’ll see what my parents died for.” he crushed a fistful of leaves and threw it into the fire, suddenly wishing he hadn’t opened his mouth. his family --- he had forbidden himself at a very young age not to ever bring them up, but right now, under a vulnerable night, his thoughts had given themselves voice without his consent. “where you from, boy?” the watchman inquired, hardly impressed. “i heard here and there that you was nothing but a beggar in old town, but before that? smuggled by pirates inland, they say.”
“the war ended not too long ago, but they left me years before that. in the care of a sickly grandmother i could not stand. they said it was their duty. for lady proudmoore. or whatever her she’s called. but i’m sure she survived the battle, unlike my parents without a name.” he stood up, paced away from the fire and remained silent, the gawking eyes of his companions following him intently. “you said it’s not safe for us in the woods at night,” the watchman expected the change in subject, yet he sketched no change in his features as he peered up at the boy. nobody dared say it out loud. one man who knew his way through these dangerous lands could have easily guided a few young boys safely to darkshire --- young boys with intact limbs. dusty, still ignorant of his faith, huffed tiredly from the effort he had to put into crawling next to the fire. “night or not, everything wants our blood. we wouldn’t be moving if it were day either.” his accusing eyes pierced the black veil of the forest, distant sounds ghostly swishing between trees.
pulling his dagger out of its hilt, the leather of his gloves squeezed around it, the last bits of sleep dimming away as he tried to suppress his anger. another sin. the knife had carved a beautiful line into dusty’s throat --- it had to be done. the rest were either cowards, or fought more honourable battles and couldn’t lower themselves to take the life of a child. for J it was different; he had been a tool of vengeance for a deluded man, for which he had killed children, women, elders, with no discrimination or second thoughts. a merciful sin. the small fire crackled and popped, warming the runt for the last time ever. they had to put it out and leave. darkshire waited.
