Dryad Eyes, part 25
3,021 words!
I actually expected this entry to be a little short, but I just kind of got into writing it. Enjoy!
It was a miserable day out. A bitter, bone-deep chill had settled in over the fortress that was Keeper's Gateway. Snow still fell in furious flurries, limiting one's ability to see anything beyond a few feet in any particular direction. Thanik, the actor and storyteller, traveled through this weather with his cloak drawn tight, his hood up, and his head down. Fortunately, and he thanked whatever Gods might be listening for it, the cobblestones beneath his boots were all but dry. This was thanks to the two men who stood close together just ahead of him. They were warming a pair of peculiar, cylinder shaped talismans in the heavy, iron torch that took both of them to carry. A number of these strange items had been purchased from some spell-crafting merchant of some sort, Thanik was not familiar with the details, at Geran's insistence when the weather had begun to turn bad. They would store heat, as from the fire the two men carried, and cast that heat forward in a wide arc when their wielders held them a certain way as they walked. Requiring frequent stops to recharge, they were not practical for keeping the entire city clear, but Geran had ordered the men to focus primarily on the main streets. It was rumored that as soon as one of the empty wings of the Keep could be prepared, that area would become opened to anyone in Gateway who wished to seek shelter there from the storm. Presumably, these men would begin making sweeps through the residential areas to help free anyone that wished to take advantage of that offer but could not travel far in the deep snow.
Shuffling to a halt behind the two men, Thanik considered his options. While his destination, Big Thom's Tavern, was but twenty paces beyond where the two men stood, the snow had not yet been cleared from their position onward. The actor did not fancy getting his feet wet in the deep snowdrifts that barred his path. On the other hand, while he could wait for them to recharge their talisman and continue their work, he was on something of a schedule. Haron, out of favor and having recently found himself just one step shy of imprisonment, was expecting to meet him in a couple of hours at their 'usual meeting spot' inside the Keep. What he wanted, and why he would risk being caught entering his old office and possibly 'plotting' against the King or whatever the General Porthos had accused him of, Thanik did not know. He was, however, eager to find out. Even more eager, was he, to see the woman that awaited him in Big Thom's. Three days had passed since he had enjoyed the softness of the barmaid Amandine's lips, and already he missed her more than he missed his long lost arm. In the end, it was not much of a choice. He set his jaw and moved past the street warmers, trudging through the knee-high snow the rest of the way to his destination.
Immediately upon entering Big Thom's, the actor could tell that something was wrong. There was no cheer, to start with. People seemed to be ignoring him, almost deliberately. The one table, near the back of the room, that he had expected to be crowded with recently met friends was overturned, its chairs scattered to either side. Turning his eyes away, he scanned the room. Where were big Charak, sly Keldras, and good, strong Sendurn? They were nowhere to be seen. In fact, the only overly familiar face that was turned toward him, and it was one that he was glad to see, was Amandine's. Days ago, during the height of his popularity as the Traveling Storyteller, she had joined him at his table and, laughingly, dubbed herself his 'personal serving wench.' Every time he had seen her since, she had approached him with a smile and a tankard of ale. Not this day. This day, her eyes betrayed her anxiety as she came to him empty handed.
"Amandine," he whispered her name as she came within range. "What is happening?"
"You should not be here today," the woman said, the worry in her lovely, heavily French accented voice tugging at his heartstrings. "Big Thom... he is on the war path today. He will not have you here."
"What? Surely, you are mistaken. I have been good for business. I--"
"You!" Big, burly Thomas, the barkeep, growled as he came strolling forward from his unseen position in the crowd. Although the establishment was called 'Big Thom's,' one did not call him by that name. As big, gruff, and intimidating as he was, his slightest displeasure over the use of the name was enough to deter most everyone save for that short, young looking girl, with the curly, reddish brown hair. On the one occasion that Thanik had seen her in the tavern, playing her pipes, and listening to a few people talk about how extraordinarily good she was from having seen her before, and at other taverns, she had approached the big man, exclaimed his name ('Thom! Big Thom!'), and thrown her arms around his bull-neck in a hug that normally abrasive Thomas seemed all too happy to return. Moments later, he had been firmly reminding another patron entirely that his name was not 'Thom,' no matter what the sign outside said.
"You'll not be spewing your venom in here this evening, Storyteller." Thomas was saying in a loud voice, as he loomed over the actor. "It'd be best if you just went on your way now."
"B-but, I thought I could soothe your patrons worries in these times of trouble--"
"Soothe? A fine hand you are at soothing." The bigger man growled. "You've been in here fanning the flames this whole time. You think I'm stupid? I know you, and a half dozen others have been spreading the same stories all over town, telling everyone that the Dryads are the worst of the bad. And it all lead straight up to this foolishness between the city council and the King. If you ask me, it's all starting to look a bit like a plot against the King, and I'll have no part of that. I won't have it in my home, or my place of business. Get gone, Slepy."
"I'm not-! No!" Thanik sputtered, a burning, indignant rage coming to life in his chest. "The King is a deceiver! Not me! He is an unclean...!"
"Dryad?" The actor found himself pressed back against the door, unable to shy away as Big Thomas met him nose-to-nose. It was not lost on the smaller man, in that moment, that the barkeep's fist was nearly as big as his own head. When that fist tangled itself in his shirt and cloak, Thanik was unable to resist the force that hauled him along with the bigger man, moving the both of them out toward the open expanse of floor where storytellers and bards of all sorts plied their trade.
"Let me tell you something about that 'unclean' dryad-man." Thomas said in a thunderous voice as he dumped Thanik on the floor at his feet. The big man was unlacing his simple, white shirt as he spoke, exposing a burly, hairy chest above a well-rounded belly. "I've been a soldier all my life. I retired from active service in Caltheria about five years ago, and opened my first tavern in DarMinask. Just over a year ago, I came out of retirement and came here to stand on these walls during the Battle of Gateway. During that battle, at no point during which did I see YOU..." He glared at Thanik,"...manning the walls, that halfling King of ours saved my life. Not once. Not twice. Not thrice. Four times, he pulled my fat off the fire."
Discarding his shirt, Thomas indicated a prominent scar that crossed his collarbone from his shoulder to his broad chest. "This here? It was an axe, and the blow would have decapitated me had Geran not barreled into me and my opponent, knocking me aside and catching that weapon in his own hands."
He pointed to, then, a puckered scar on the left side of his voluminous stomach. "A spear, that bore me back and over the edge of the wall. I would have fallen to my death, dragging as many Kerim Thiathe scum with me was I could, had Geran not caught my arm and dragged me to safety. In doing that, he took a hit he didn't have to-- a dagger, right into the meat of his thigh."
"This?" Thomas brushed his fingertips along a long scar that ran just over his right ear. "A sword, knocked my helmet from my head and sent me to the ground. I would have died then, disoriented, on the ground in the middle of a half dozen enemy soldiers, but that 'unclean' King of ours stood over me and fended the enemy off while I regained my senses."
Finally, turning his shoulder to show both Thanik and the other patrons, all of whom were watching the scene unfold in rapt attention, three more puckered scars on his shoulder. "Arrows. During the retreat from the second wall to the third, I had the opportunity to return the favor by putting myself between our King and the bowmen that were about to fire on him. And what did that silly bastard do? Instead of making good his escape, he carried my heavy ass home. Now, I'm not the smartest man in the world, and we may not have bled into each others wounds or spent more than a few minutes in each other's company since, but the way I figure it? All of that makes us as much like brothers as any other bond in this crazy old world we live in."
Glaring at the actor-turned-storyteller and flexing his hands suggestively, Thomas added, “So, with that in mind, before you leave, is there anything else you'd like to say about my brother?"
Unable to effectively find his voice, Thanik could only stare up at the big, angry man standing over him. How had this gotten so far out of hand? He had enjoyed playing the role of the storyteller, so much so that it had become a kind of release to step into that role after shedding his own identity. Now, as he listened to the crowd cheer, not for him but for the man that had decided to topple him from the perch that he had acquired, he felt himself spiraling into the same despair that had plagued him for so long after the loss of his arm. Everything he had accomplished in these past few days was being stripped from him in that moment, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
A soft touch at his shoulder turned the actor's attention away from Thomas. There, beside him, Amandine knelt. Her large, dark eyes took in his gaze, and he saw that she still accepted him. She still believed in him. When she tugged on his arm and began helping him up, he felt a surge of relief. Perhaps it would all be worth it, he decided. He had not lost everything after all.
"Thank you, Thomas, for your kindness," Amandine spoke to the barkeep. "I am afraid that I can not return."
"If that’s the way you feel, then okay." Big Thom sighed. "But, take my advice; don't throw your life away for garbage like him. He isn't worth it."
"All will be well, sir. Do not worry for me."
With that, Amandine, clutching the still-shaken Thanik's arm to hold him upright, turned toward the door. She was doing this for him, he realized, as he dimly allowed himself to be lead from the room. In addition, it occurred to him, that she was quite a bit stronger than he had expected. Her hand on his arm was as forgiving as an iron band, but for the moment, he did not mind. Somewhere behind him, as he and his ladylove emerged onto the just-cleared cobblestones outside the tavern door, he heard Thomas saying this to his customers, "The world would be a better place with a few more bastard dryad-men just like him. Anybody has a problem with that ain't welcome in this establishment."
Then, as the door swung shut, something struck the actor-turned-storyteller from the side and he tumbled to the side. The last thing he saw was Amandine running after him, trying to catch up to him. Cobblestones and then darkness replaced that vision.
----------------
Something struck his face once, twice, and a third time before he really became aware that it was happening. Sensation flooded his awareness; cold stone beneath him, a bitter chill in the air, and the searing heat of a nearby fire. His arms were bound tight, and his feet were hobbled. What was happening? Thanik feared the worst. Somebody had abducted him. Worse, since he had been in Amandine's company, whoever it was likely had her as well. No other choice was open to him, so, finally, with great trepidation, he cracked open his eyes to take in his surroundings.
A dozen women stood around the fire before him. He thought he could see and hear more behind them, but he was not sure of that. Their clothing was odd. Leather and cloth, sewn in a variety of styles with no particular sense of fashion besides functionality. It was all in greens, browns, and grays-- a variety of earth tones. Each of the women had dark hair, most with a strip of red clearly visible, and darker eyes. Thanik's heart began to pound heavily in his chest. Dryads? he thought. Here? This was not good at all.
Into his field of vision walked a familiar figure. Amandine, dressed as the women that were now behind her as she stood between him and them, knelt before him. What was this? Thanik refused to understand what he was seeing. The dark hair that he had run his hands through so often, and the dark eyes that had looked at him before with such warmth and now contempt, were suddenly damning evidence from which his mind recoiled. The skin, the bone structure... how could he have not recognized her for what she was? How could he accept it now?
Grasping his hair in one stout fist, she dragged his head up so that he might look her directly in the eyes. There was no trace of a French accent in her voice when she spoke. "My name is Amiendyn. I am a dryad. If I could die a thousand deaths for every time you touched me, I would."
Thanik was lost in a world of confusion and hurt, not to mention a bit of fear. He could not believe that he had been so duped, that she had never truly felt anything for him at all. Perhaps, he tried to tell himself in the back of his mind, she was simply playing a role that she had to play before these people. "Aman--"
Amiendyn spat in his face and did not so much release his head as she did throw it down. His neck protested this treatment with a great deal of pain. "Amiendyn. Remember it."
Confusion burned away, as the new wounds within his heart gave birth to anger. Not just anger, no. Fury. Rage. Somehow, some way, he would find a way to survive this terrible mess. He swore that to himself. When he was free again, he would find 'Amiendyn,' and make her pay for using him so cruelly. He swore that, as well.
As the actor's mind seethed, however, another dryad stepped forward. Without question or hesitation, Amiendyn bowed her head and gave way to her. Though he saw her, and was dimly aware that he should be concerned with what was happening, Thanik was too lost in his own mind at that point to fully comprehend anything beyond his thoughts of pain and revenge. That was, until the new woman took hold of his chin. Her fingers felt like steel rods against his face. Though she did not bear down and crush his jaw, he could feel the incredible strength that she was not using, and in spite of himself could not help but marvel at it. Everyone who truly knew anything about them at all knew that dryads were stronger than the average human was. Knowing that, even having seen examples of it, was nothing compared to feeling it.
Having acquired his full attention, the woman allowed him to take a moment to study her before she spoke. Her hair, like all of the others, was very dark, save for the single streak of red that began at the top of her head and slid down the left side of her face. Silvery strands flanked the red, bringing to Thanik's mind a torch burning in the heart of winter. There was a certain poetry to that, he thought. She had dark eyes, again like the others, but the face that surrounded those eyes was a little older, a little wiser. If he were a guessing man, he would have guessed her to be in her mid-forties, which, given the stories he had heard of dryad longevity, meant that this woman was likely one of the oldest living beings he would ever meet.
"My name is Ytyrra." Her fingers tightened ever so slightly as she spoke. Thanik groaned in response. "Do you know it?"
"I-I... have heard it."
"Good." She smiled. Something about that smile, and her face, was suddenly a little too familiar to him. Knowing that he had never met her before, though stories of Ytyrra, the dryad witch, were now flowing through the back of his mind, he wondered at that. Not giving him time to consider it, she spoke again. "Tell me about your plot against my son."
"Your son..."
"Gierryn."
Thanik's blood ran cold, and Amiendyn, along with all thoughts of revenge, were banished from his mind.
I actually expected this entry to be a little short, but I just kind of got into writing it. Enjoy!
It was a miserable day out. A bitter, bone-deep chill had settled in over the fortress that was Keeper's Gateway. Snow still fell in furious flurries, limiting one's ability to see anything beyond a few feet in any particular direction. Thanik, the actor and storyteller, traveled through this weather with his cloak drawn tight, his hood up, and his head down. Fortunately, and he thanked whatever Gods might be listening for it, the cobblestones beneath his boots were all but dry. This was thanks to the two men who stood close together just ahead of him. They were warming a pair of peculiar, cylinder shaped talismans in the heavy, iron torch that took both of them to carry. A number of these strange items had been purchased from some spell-crafting merchant of some sort, Thanik was not familiar with the details, at Geran's insistence when the weather had begun to turn bad. They would store heat, as from the fire the two men carried, and cast that heat forward in a wide arc when their wielders held them a certain way as they walked. Requiring frequent stops to recharge, they were not practical for keeping the entire city clear, but Geran had ordered the men to focus primarily on the main streets. It was rumored that as soon as one of the empty wings of the Keep could be prepared, that area would become opened to anyone in Gateway who wished to seek shelter there from the storm. Presumably, these men would begin making sweeps through the residential areas to help free anyone that wished to take advantage of that offer but could not travel far in the deep snow.
Shuffling to a halt behind the two men, Thanik considered his options. While his destination, Big Thom's Tavern, was but twenty paces beyond where the two men stood, the snow had not yet been cleared from their position onward. The actor did not fancy getting his feet wet in the deep snowdrifts that barred his path. On the other hand, while he could wait for them to recharge their talisman and continue their work, he was on something of a schedule. Haron, out of favor and having recently found himself just one step shy of imprisonment, was expecting to meet him in a couple of hours at their 'usual meeting spot' inside the Keep. What he wanted, and why he would risk being caught entering his old office and possibly 'plotting' against the King or whatever the General Porthos had accused him of, Thanik did not know. He was, however, eager to find out. Even more eager, was he, to see the woman that awaited him in Big Thom's. Three days had passed since he had enjoyed the softness of the barmaid Amandine's lips, and already he missed her more than he missed his long lost arm. In the end, it was not much of a choice. He set his jaw and moved past the street warmers, trudging through the knee-high snow the rest of the way to his destination.
Immediately upon entering Big Thom's, the actor could tell that something was wrong. There was no cheer, to start with. People seemed to be ignoring him, almost deliberately. The one table, near the back of the room, that he had expected to be crowded with recently met friends was overturned, its chairs scattered to either side. Turning his eyes away, he scanned the room. Where were big Charak, sly Keldras, and good, strong Sendurn? They were nowhere to be seen. In fact, the only overly familiar face that was turned toward him, and it was one that he was glad to see, was Amandine's. Days ago, during the height of his popularity as the Traveling Storyteller, she had joined him at his table and, laughingly, dubbed herself his 'personal serving wench.' Every time he had seen her since, she had approached him with a smile and a tankard of ale. Not this day. This day, her eyes betrayed her anxiety as she came to him empty handed.
"Amandine," he whispered her name as she came within range. "What is happening?"
"You should not be here today," the woman said, the worry in her lovely, heavily French accented voice tugging at his heartstrings. "Big Thom... he is on the war path today. He will not have you here."
"What? Surely, you are mistaken. I have been good for business. I--"
"You!" Big, burly Thomas, the barkeep, growled as he came strolling forward from his unseen position in the crowd. Although the establishment was called 'Big Thom's,' one did not call him by that name. As big, gruff, and intimidating as he was, his slightest displeasure over the use of the name was enough to deter most everyone save for that short, young looking girl, with the curly, reddish brown hair. On the one occasion that Thanik had seen her in the tavern, playing her pipes, and listening to a few people talk about how extraordinarily good she was from having seen her before, and at other taverns, she had approached the big man, exclaimed his name ('Thom! Big Thom!'), and thrown her arms around his bull-neck in a hug that normally abrasive Thomas seemed all too happy to return. Moments later, he had been firmly reminding another patron entirely that his name was not 'Thom,' no matter what the sign outside said.
"You'll not be spewing your venom in here this evening, Storyteller." Thomas was saying in a loud voice, as he loomed over the actor. "It'd be best if you just went on your way now."
"B-but, I thought I could soothe your patrons worries in these times of trouble--"
"Soothe? A fine hand you are at soothing." The bigger man growled. "You've been in here fanning the flames this whole time. You think I'm stupid? I know you, and a half dozen others have been spreading the same stories all over town, telling everyone that the Dryads are the worst of the bad. And it all lead straight up to this foolishness between the city council and the King. If you ask me, it's all starting to look a bit like a plot against the King, and I'll have no part of that. I won't have it in my home, or my place of business. Get gone, Slepy."
"I'm not-! No!" Thanik sputtered, a burning, indignant rage coming to life in his chest. "The King is a deceiver! Not me! He is an unclean...!"
"Dryad?" The actor found himself pressed back against the door, unable to shy away as Big Thomas met him nose-to-nose. It was not lost on the smaller man, in that moment, that the barkeep's fist was nearly as big as his own head. When that fist tangled itself in his shirt and cloak, Thanik was unable to resist the force that hauled him along with the bigger man, moving the both of them out toward the open expanse of floor where storytellers and bards of all sorts plied their trade.
"Let me tell you something about that 'unclean' dryad-man." Thomas said in a thunderous voice as he dumped Thanik on the floor at his feet. The big man was unlacing his simple, white shirt as he spoke, exposing a burly, hairy chest above a well-rounded belly. "I've been a soldier all my life. I retired from active service in Caltheria about five years ago, and opened my first tavern in DarMinask. Just over a year ago, I came out of retirement and came here to stand on these walls during the Battle of Gateway. During that battle, at no point during which did I see YOU..." He glared at Thanik,"...manning the walls, that halfling King of ours saved my life. Not once. Not twice. Not thrice. Four times, he pulled my fat off the fire."
Discarding his shirt, Thomas indicated a prominent scar that crossed his collarbone from his shoulder to his broad chest. "This here? It was an axe, and the blow would have decapitated me had Geran not barreled into me and my opponent, knocking me aside and catching that weapon in his own hands."
He pointed to, then, a puckered scar on the left side of his voluminous stomach. "A spear, that bore me back and over the edge of the wall. I would have fallen to my death, dragging as many Kerim Thiathe scum with me was I could, had Geran not caught my arm and dragged me to safety. In doing that, he took a hit he didn't have to-- a dagger, right into the meat of his thigh."
"This?" Thomas brushed his fingertips along a long scar that ran just over his right ear. "A sword, knocked my helmet from my head and sent me to the ground. I would have died then, disoriented, on the ground in the middle of a half dozen enemy soldiers, but that 'unclean' King of ours stood over me and fended the enemy off while I regained my senses."
Finally, turning his shoulder to show both Thanik and the other patrons, all of whom were watching the scene unfold in rapt attention, three more puckered scars on his shoulder. "Arrows. During the retreat from the second wall to the third, I had the opportunity to return the favor by putting myself between our King and the bowmen that were about to fire on him. And what did that silly bastard do? Instead of making good his escape, he carried my heavy ass home. Now, I'm not the smartest man in the world, and we may not have bled into each others wounds or spent more than a few minutes in each other's company since, but the way I figure it? All of that makes us as much like brothers as any other bond in this crazy old world we live in."
Glaring at the actor-turned-storyteller and flexing his hands suggestively, Thomas added, “So, with that in mind, before you leave, is there anything else you'd like to say about my brother?"
Unable to effectively find his voice, Thanik could only stare up at the big, angry man standing over him. How had this gotten so far out of hand? He had enjoyed playing the role of the storyteller, so much so that it had become a kind of release to step into that role after shedding his own identity. Now, as he listened to the crowd cheer, not for him but for the man that had decided to topple him from the perch that he had acquired, he felt himself spiraling into the same despair that had plagued him for so long after the loss of his arm. Everything he had accomplished in these past few days was being stripped from him in that moment, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
A soft touch at his shoulder turned the actor's attention away from Thomas. There, beside him, Amandine knelt. Her large, dark eyes took in his gaze, and he saw that she still accepted him. She still believed in him. When she tugged on his arm and began helping him up, he felt a surge of relief. Perhaps it would all be worth it, he decided. He had not lost everything after all.
"Thank you, Thomas, for your kindness," Amandine spoke to the barkeep. "I am afraid that I can not return."
"If that’s the way you feel, then okay." Big Thom sighed. "But, take my advice; don't throw your life away for garbage like him. He isn't worth it."
"All will be well, sir. Do not worry for me."
With that, Amandine, clutching the still-shaken Thanik's arm to hold him upright, turned toward the door. She was doing this for him, he realized, as he dimly allowed himself to be lead from the room. In addition, it occurred to him, that she was quite a bit stronger than he had expected. Her hand on his arm was as forgiving as an iron band, but for the moment, he did not mind. Somewhere behind him, as he and his ladylove emerged onto the just-cleared cobblestones outside the tavern door, he heard Thomas saying this to his customers, "The world would be a better place with a few more bastard dryad-men just like him. Anybody has a problem with that ain't welcome in this establishment."
Then, as the door swung shut, something struck the actor-turned-storyteller from the side and he tumbled to the side. The last thing he saw was Amandine running after him, trying to catch up to him. Cobblestones and then darkness replaced that vision.
----------------
Something struck his face once, twice, and a third time before he really became aware that it was happening. Sensation flooded his awareness; cold stone beneath him, a bitter chill in the air, and the searing heat of a nearby fire. His arms were bound tight, and his feet were hobbled. What was happening? Thanik feared the worst. Somebody had abducted him. Worse, since he had been in Amandine's company, whoever it was likely had her as well. No other choice was open to him, so, finally, with great trepidation, he cracked open his eyes to take in his surroundings.
A dozen women stood around the fire before him. He thought he could see and hear more behind them, but he was not sure of that. Their clothing was odd. Leather and cloth, sewn in a variety of styles with no particular sense of fashion besides functionality. It was all in greens, browns, and grays-- a variety of earth tones. Each of the women had dark hair, most with a strip of red clearly visible, and darker eyes. Thanik's heart began to pound heavily in his chest. Dryads? he thought. Here? This was not good at all.
Into his field of vision walked a familiar figure. Amandine, dressed as the women that were now behind her as she stood between him and them, knelt before him. What was this? Thanik refused to understand what he was seeing. The dark hair that he had run his hands through so often, and the dark eyes that had looked at him before with such warmth and now contempt, were suddenly damning evidence from which his mind recoiled. The skin, the bone structure... how could he have not recognized her for what she was? How could he accept it now?
Grasping his hair in one stout fist, she dragged his head up so that he might look her directly in the eyes. There was no trace of a French accent in her voice when she spoke. "My name is Amiendyn. I am a dryad. If I could die a thousand deaths for every time you touched me, I would."
Thanik was lost in a world of confusion and hurt, not to mention a bit of fear. He could not believe that he had been so duped, that she had never truly felt anything for him at all. Perhaps, he tried to tell himself in the back of his mind, she was simply playing a role that she had to play before these people. "Aman--"
Amiendyn spat in his face and did not so much release his head as she did throw it down. His neck protested this treatment with a great deal of pain. "Amiendyn. Remember it."
Confusion burned away, as the new wounds within his heart gave birth to anger. Not just anger, no. Fury. Rage. Somehow, some way, he would find a way to survive this terrible mess. He swore that to himself. When he was free again, he would find 'Amiendyn,' and make her pay for using him so cruelly. He swore that, as well.
As the actor's mind seethed, however, another dryad stepped forward. Without question or hesitation, Amiendyn bowed her head and gave way to her. Though he saw her, and was dimly aware that he should be concerned with what was happening, Thanik was too lost in his own mind at that point to fully comprehend anything beyond his thoughts of pain and revenge. That was, until the new woman took hold of his chin. Her fingers felt like steel rods against his face. Though she did not bear down and crush his jaw, he could feel the incredible strength that she was not using, and in spite of himself could not help but marvel at it. Everyone who truly knew anything about them at all knew that dryads were stronger than the average human was. Knowing that, even having seen examples of it, was nothing compared to feeling it.
Having acquired his full attention, the woman allowed him to take a moment to study her before she spoke. Her hair, like all of the others, was very dark, save for the single streak of red that began at the top of her head and slid down the left side of her face. Silvery strands flanked the red, bringing to Thanik's mind a torch burning in the heart of winter. There was a certain poetry to that, he thought. She had dark eyes, again like the others, but the face that surrounded those eyes was a little older, a little wiser. If he were a guessing man, he would have guessed her to be in her mid-forties, which, given the stories he had heard of dryad longevity, meant that this woman was likely one of the oldest living beings he would ever meet.
"My name is Ytyrra." Her fingers tightened ever so slightly as she spoke. Thanik groaned in response. "Do you know it?"
"I-I... have heard it."
"Good." She smiled. Something about that smile, and her face, was suddenly a little too familiar to him. Knowing that he had never met her before, though stories of Ytyrra, the dryad witch, were now flowing through the back of his mind, he wondered at that. Not giving him time to consider it, she spoke again. "Tell me about your plot against my son."
"Your son..."
"Gierryn."
Thanik's blood ran cold, and Amiendyn, along with all thoughts of revenge, were banished from his mind.