10 YEARS AGO
Snow fell from the sky like small white bugs, twirling under the push of an arctic wind. Icicles hung from the trees like miniature knives as vicious winds bit at the travelling men, covering them like a cloak. The traveling men kept their heads down, squinting to shield from the strong gusts. Tears rolled down their faces, freezing along their cheeks and in their beards. Most men did little to conceal their disdain for this faraway place, doing little to hide the weariness that plagued their faces. The men were a long way from home–and had been for a very long time. They had known it would be like this--bitter, miserable, and unrelenting.
The Knights of Windem were hunting the Orc-eel of the north–a foul beast that lurked deep beneath the ice-lands of Northrock, a mix of frozen sea and tundra that spanned hundreds of miles. The Orc-eel had only ever been seen by the eyes of dying men--its existence the result of tall tales told around a crackling fire or a bustling inn. No sane man dared embark on a quest to find the creature, let alone capture it. But there was one man who was not worried about what sane men did. His name was Gareth Blackthorn, Lord Commander of Windem.
Hundreds of sharpened sticks chipped at the ice in a rhythmic sound as one hundred men trudged along the snow covered path. Weary bodies stumbled along the icy trail, nearly spent. White spruce trees lined either side of the trail, scaling high into the sky which was morphing into a lazy mixture of purple and pink.
Gareth Blackthorn planned to lead the men beyond the trail they now traversed and across an eight-hundred mile frozen tundra. Ominous things dwelled in the ice-lands, with the Orc-eel being just one of them. Stories of the Orc-eel’s elusive nature had drawn these men here under Gareth’s contagious spirit--ultimately aiming to have the creature baited to the surface of the frozen surface where it would then be hooked and captured by one hundred spears and harpoons. Once the Orc-eel was secured by hooks, Gareth planned to take the lethal shot with his crossbow. As legend told, a shot to the weak point below its gills was enough to fatally wound it.
Gareth's crossbow hung across his chest from a leather strap. The crossbow was heavy, causing his back to ache dully as he trudged along the path. He visualized the lethal shot in his head as he walked. In his mind's eye, he saw the bolt discharge with a powerful thunk, puncturing the orc-eel’s weak spot. The beast would emit a mighty roar, sending the hairs on his neck straight up. He had dreamt the same scene before. Although in his dreams, it always ended horribly. The ice would crack underneath him and his body would slide into the deadly icy-charged waters. He would awake with a great shiver, the wind shrieking amidst the nightly snowstorms. Once his breathing had calmed he would slide back into a dreamless sleep, knowing that the sun would soon rise and they would need to be on their way whilst the sun radiated its warmth.
It had been three days without the horses. Gareth had decided it best to leave them at Silverkeep's border. Beyond Silverkeep the numbing temperatures and frozen ground would have been too perilous for the horses. Vegetation was scarce this far north. Most of the horses wouldn't have enough food to survive.
Gareth’s breath swirled like a busy vapor, frost clinging to his dark hair. Flakes of snow decorated his beard like glitter. His second-in-command and good friend, Elric Drakonstone, staggered behind him. Elric was a beast of a man, broad-shouldered and impossibly powerful, his sheer size only magnified by the layers of thick wolf and bear furs that wrapped around him like armor against the biting winds. He followed behind Gareth, who led the way and showed no sign of slowing.
“C’mon, we mustn’t slow now,” shouted Elric over his shoulder at the men. He was beginning to lose patience with the sounds of men faltering along the path and whining of the cold. "Don’t let our lord commander down now."
Gareth's thoughts were a long way off from scowling at his men. He thought about the families that awaited them back home. Gareth in particular thought often of his young son, Tristan, who had just turned four. He imagined his wife, Mildred, playing with Tristan out in the yard–watching their son as he did what most young boys did–play, explore, cry. There was not a thing in the world that Gareth held more dear than his son, who was following a long tradition of formidable warriors simply by virtue of being a Blackthorn. He’ll make a fine Blackthorn some day, thought Gareth. It’s in his blood. The family line was drying up as of late. Gareth was one of two brothers, and his younger brother had died years ago during a border skirmish with their neighbors, the Brantish. Prior to Gareth and his brother, there had been issues with fertility, and now Tristan was the last remaining Blackthorn in the family line besides Gareth.
Gareth was not the only one who had left his family behind. Each man had left a family behind of some kind, knowing the prestige that awaited them in Windem if they were successful in their journey. King Tarren had wanted something to be remembered by--something that could be known as the crown jewel of his reign. He would be the King that was not only an impeccable huntsman, but the King who had secured the greatest capture of all time–across all kingdoms. The capture of the fabled Orc-eel. Even to return with the remains of the creature–something to mark its capture–would be sufficient. A tusk, a tooth, some scales…anything. It was unsure as to how big the Orc-eel actually was.
The journey was marked by long, tiresome days under the hidden sun followed by bitter nights spent around a fire or in a tent. Gareth spent nights by the warm glowing fire, sharpening his sticks with his sax knife. Thoughts of his family inevitably crowded his mind. He could still see Mildred and his Tristan waving as Gareth set off with his hundred men at the beginning of their journey. They were given a proper send off by King Tarren, who had provided them with a fair score of horses with round shields tied to their packs–blankets, rations, furs, boots, swords, spears, bows and arrows.
They ascended an elevated slope. Groans echoed, some men slipping on the snow and others quietly cursing. Encouragement matched the cursing as a couple men stepped off to the side of the path to take a quick rest. Elric paused, glancing back. Frost covered his eyebrows, turning him into a native of the cold.
“Up! On your feet!” demanded Elric. “We can’t stop now–not while there is still light." Elric pulled wool cloth over his frosty nose.
Gareth and Elric marched side by side, having finally beaten the gradual ascent of the wooded trail and were now able to coast down a light hill. The trees were starting to thin out. Downhill was not any easier than uphill. The challenge was preventing themselves from losing their footing. Gareth felt his quads burning as he restrained himself from sliding down the icy hill. The spikes on his boots hardly seemed to help.
“Take it slow,” said Gareth. “The ice is firm here and the slope tricky!” The wind cut his voice, preventing the men from hearing more than a muffled shout.
Hours later, the sun had begun to set behind the horizon and the group stopped to set up camp. Flat land was found at the top of a hill to lay out blankets, get tents erected, and find some relief from the bitter wind. A few managed to get a fire going while others opted to sleep in the refuge of their tents. Those seated around a fire pulled their hoods close and warmed their hands until feeling returned.
Elric seated himself next to Gareth in front of a flickering fire. The clouds had cleared and the stars emitted soft swirls of pink, blue, and green, turning the night sky into a breathtaking display.
“Northern lights,” muttered Gareth. Elric muttered in acknowledgement, craning his neck upward.
“I miss them,” said Gareth. “My wife…my boy–my beautiful little boy. I can see Tristan’s face now…and Mildred. I can see them…so clearly.” Gareth was smiling.
“That boy…he’s going to be some warrior one day, just like his father,” said Elric.
Gareth chuckled, nodding. “He’s always got a wooden sword in his hand. I’ve got bruises all over my knuckles from him.”
Elric changed the subject after a few minutes of silence. “You think we’ll find it?”
“What, the Orc-eel?” asked Gareth.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah…we’ll find it,” replied Gareth.
“Didn’t train for a year for nothin', eh?” said Elric, his tone unnaturally soft. He was a crude man, but willing to subdue that part of his nature for Gareth’s sake.
“We're well trained. We’re ready." Gareth withdrew a weathered looking map from the pocket of his fur coat. It was a frail map with a million little wrinkles. The parchment was soft from being folded so many times. He rubbed his hands together over the fire, trying to regain some feeling.
After pouring over the map, Gareth and Elric were the last ones to sleep. Before sleep found him, Gareth envisioned finding the Orc-eel. He imagined the creature erupting from the ice, hooks and spears snagging its body and pulling from all directions. He imagined himself lining up his crossbow, spotting its weak spot. The bolt of his crossbow setting in place with a loud click and the arrow releasing with a splitting sound. He could hear wails of the Orc-eel, screeching out in agony, thrashing itself against the ice. He would etch himself into history. Gareth Blackthorn the…Slayer? Warrior? Hunter? He said each title to himself, even muttered them quietly, to see how they would sound. He settled on Gareth Blackthorn the Slayer. Shortly later, he drifted into a deep sleep. Light snoring filled his tent.
The next morning was full of animated discussion. The men had been recharged from a full night’s sleep and the sun had come out to offer a sliver of generous warmth upon their backs. The group set about packing up camp and gathering their things. Gareth was grateful for the temporary sunshine, humming peacefully as he gathered his things. Gareth Blackthorn III, Slayer of the Orc-eel, he thought to himself.
“We're close,” said Gareth, turning to Elric. They were on flat land now and ahead of them was a disorienting trek across a vast and daunting tundra. The sun had retreated back to its usual place behind dark clouds.
“There,” said Gareth, pointing. Elric paused to see what he was pointing at. Gareth looked down at his map and up again. “That’s the rock formation that is on this map. Three jutting black rocks that point in three different directions. Beyond that rock formation, we are walking over frozen seas.”
The men glanced at Gareth’s map, and then back at the three rocks pointing in different directions. There was no mistaking it. It had an uncanny resemblance to the drawing on the map. Elric snatched the map from his hand.
“It can’t be,” Elric whispered in disbelief.
“Watch your step,” shouted Gareth. “There is no ground below the ice here. The water is deadly. If you feel the ice start to crack…well, we’re in trouble.” Gareth took the first step out onto the ice, striding across the ice as if it were a stroll down the aisle of the king’s court.
The men had rehearsed this part of the journey before leaving the kingdom. They would need to travel approximately five miles before they were standing above the area where the Orc-eel had long been rumored to have been lurking. Its shadow would be visible through the ice, hovering near the surface like a bloodthirsty predator. If it was lucky, it would find a penguin or a polar bear. More commonly it would snap up through the ice to enclose its jaws around a small bird like a Snow petrel or an Arctic tern.
They were only three miles into their march across the ice when a shout suddenly rang out from the rear of the group. Gareth winced at the shout. Then he ran, Elric at his heels. He came sliding to a halt where a man claimed to have seen a shadow below the ice. Gareth and Elric waited a while, staring at the spot. No shadow was seen.
“Just hysteria,” said Elric.
“Onward then,” said Gareth after examining the ice for a while. A few moments later another man claimed to have seen a large creature dwelling below the ice.
“It was swimming just below my foot!” He exclaimed.
“Was it big?” asked Elric. His face was tight with apprehension.
“Bollocks yes,” replied the man. He held a defensive stance, ready to smash the tip of his spear at the ice at any moment.
“Let us journey forward slowly,” said Gareth. The group did just that, taking slow steps–but only after Gareth led them. The men had nearly forgotten the possibility that the creature did not actually exist after all. It had never been confirmed that the monster really did exist.
Another twenty minutes passed. The air changed. A cold blast of wind nearly blew men back onto their backs. Elric had slammed his spear into the ice and held his shaft with all his might to keep from sliding back on the ice. Somehow it did not crack the ice. Gareth’s hair was flailing wildly in the wind. A sudden feeling of dread overcame the group. The sky became darker. It was afternoon. The sun should have been at its brightest but it seemed as though the sun was setting early.
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Gareth spotted it first. Whether it was the Orc-eel or not, no one knew just yet. But whatever it was, its shadow was immense. The thing swirled under the ice, just below the surface. It looked like a dragon, minus the wings. Gareth gestured hurriedly for his men to spread themselves around the creature. It became increasingly evident that this had to be the Orc-eel. Every man had a spear or harpoon in hand, scurrying to their stations just as they had trained.
There were dozens of rocks, big and small, jutting up out of the ice. Men took their positions there now. Gareth took the tallest rock, lining up his crossbow and aiming it at the shadow as it moved. Elric had tied up the dummy they had brought to coax out the Orc-eel. He coiled rope around the dummy’s torso and tied a firm knot. Gareth gave him a nod and Elric slowly lowered it out onto the ice. He tossed the end of the rope to a man on a rock beside him who then passed it to the man next to him. The dummy was hoisted out onto the ice. The straw-filled dummy slid out across the ice, eventually coming to a halt in the open. The man who had the end of the rope began pulling and the dummy slid over the ice, mimicking a sizable piece of bait for the creature to stalk from below the surface.
At first, the monster followed, stalking it slowly. It was difficult to make out any details about the creature besides the fact that it just looked like a very large shadow. But then there was a bang. The creature’s teeth sank into the ice from the underside–right where the dummy was laying. The ice was thick. It would take a long, momentous start even for the orc-eel to break the surface. The ice appeared to be at least two feet thick, and that was only because they were still at the outskirts of this long icy tundra. Further “inland”, the ice would be nearly a thousand feet thick. The creature’s shadow disappeared from view, presumably dropping deeper into the water. But it wasn’t long before it returned.
“It’s coming!” shouted Gareth. Elric and Gareth exchanged excited looks.
But the creature did not surface again for a long time. It had been nearly an hour and the sun was low in the sky. Too much later and it would be too dark. Things would get complicated at night.
“What now?” mouthed Elric, perched on his rock. Gareth pursed his lips. He thought for a while and then looked back to Elric when he came to a decision.
“I’m going out there,” mouthed Gareth. Elric’s eyes opened wide in disbelief. Before he signal for Gareth to reconsider, it was too late.
Gareth dropped gently to the ice, ignoring Elric's warnings and tossing his crossbow to him. He carried only his sword now. Gareth examined his shiny, beautiful blade. It was pristine. Gareth had received it as a gift from some Sorceress after being named Lord Commander of the King’s armies. Gareth had always preferred his sword. It was shorter than a spear, and less awkward to wield. To Gareth, his sword was like an extension of his arm.
A long crack formed along the ice, rumbling like thunder. The ice shattered, breaking off into large plates. Icy water sprayed up into the air. The creature beneath the surface sounded a war-cry as the men stood paralyzed, quaking in fear. The Orc-eel was two times larger than a normal whales, although thinner. Elric’s eyes darted all over the ice. He couldn't find Gareth. Elric's heart skipped a beat. Had Gareth fallen in?
Gareth suddenly appeared. He had been hidden beneath the giant eel and was busy shimmying his way out. Somehow the plate of ice that Gareth and the eel danced on was holding despite the dangerous cracks that were appearing.
Gareth was frantic, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and the roaring Orc-eel. He needed time to plan his approach before he could gut the beast with his sword. Elric watched on from his perch, frowning as he noted that it had four scaly, stubby legs. The old legends always said that the Orc-eel was a long, slimy eel that resembled a mix between a whale and a snake. The legends were not far off, but the stubby legs on the creature were surprising. Elric trembled with terror as he noticed the Orc-eel's set of razor-sharp teeth. Each tooth was about three feet in length and sharpened to a point like a sword. The creature thrashed around, slobber covering the ice around it. Its teeth chomped down hungrily, rearing its head and trying to figure out who was going to be its next meal.
Gareth found refuge behind a rock, climbing to the top to shout orders from the top of his lungs. The men were determined to hear Gareth’s orders despite the chaos around them.
“Spears! Hooks!” shouted Gareth. Elric caught Gareth's attention and through his crossbow to him. Gareth caught it, nearly dropping it as he struggled to maintain his balance atop the rock.
“Tie the ropes!” shouted Gareth.
Men busied themselves tying coil ropes around the ends of their spears, harpoons, and hooks. The idea was to have one hundred men on all sides of the creature, latching their spears into the creature and pulling as hard as they could. That would ensure the creature could not move in any direction. Gareth wondered if they should have tied the ropes around the rocks rather than their waists, but there was not enough time now. They had planned for this moment months in advance and there was no use in changing their plan now.
Men finished tying the ropes. Gareth glanced around. All eyes were on him. He locked eyes with Elric, who gave him a nod. Elric also had a crossbow in hand. They had agreed beforehand that whoever had the best shot would take it. Elric leapt down from his rock to land on the ice. He nearly slipped, but quickly steadied himself.
“Hold…steady!” shouted Gareth. He sidestepped toward the beast. It released a mighty roar, spittle spraying Gareth. Its breath blew his hair back. Gareth squinted his eyes, holding a forearm up to protect his face. Elric took the rear of the creature, preparing to distract the beast if needed. Even better, he might be able to find the chink in its scales and take the fatal shot. Gareth edged slowly towards the creature.
Gareth raised his hand to the air, fingers counting down from three, two, one. When the last finger went down he waved his hand.
“Now!” He followed it up with a shout, “Release!”
Gareth's men, inspired by his brazen approach, launched their spears and hooks. Most latched on. Some didn’t. The beast's scales were thick and jutted up from its body so that if the men got their hooks to catch just right, it would stay. The Orc-eel released a mighty roar, greatly irritated by the hooks and spears that were piercing its body. A few men were yanked from their rocks as the Orc-eel thrashed its body.
The creature let out another roar. This time, the sheer volume of its spine-chilling scream caused another crack to appear all throughout the ice. The sound set all men on alert.
“The ice is cracking!” someone shouted.
“It’ll hold,” muttered Gareth.
The Orc-eel was large and menacing, but it was also slow. It began to slowly crawl along the ice towards Gareth, aligning perfectly with Gareth’s plan.
“Yeah—come here you big stupid beast!” shouted Gareth. He waved his sword around as he would to an opponent on the battlefield. The Orc-eel screeched another shrill scream. Men pulled on the hooks. The Orc-eel was yanked back a yard. Another screech filled the frosty air.
Elric lined up his crossbow, a slow smile spreading across his face.
"Gotcha," he muttered. He found the chink in its scales. The weak spot. The scales were lined up in a consistent pattern except for one little spot where there was some soft pink skin showing. Elric squinted his eyes, struggling to see. Flurries were coming down and a cold wind blew into his eyes, causing them to water.
Thud! The steel bolt slammed into the Orc-eel’s side. It missed the weak spot. He lined up another bolt. Gareth continued taunting the creature. It turned its head. The bolt had annoyed Orc-eel enough to give Elric its full attention. Thud! Another miss. Elric had brought five bolts with him and he was now down to three left. The Orc-eel started to turn its large body. The men with spears and hooks struggled to keep it contained, but it was working. The creature found itself bound by the strength of ninety-eight men pulling from all directions.
Just as Elric was lining up his third shot, he froze. Gareth froze as well. The Orc-eel was preparing to shake its entire body like a cat. There was a layer of ice and frost still coating the creature submerged underneath the ice. Now it was going to shake and contort its body until all the hooks, spears, and frost was off of its scales.
Gareth and Elric lined up shots as fast as they could. The creature shook and flailed. Thirty men from the far side were launched overhead. They still had their ropes tied at the waist so they were at the mercy of the creature. Their hooks were still firmly embedded in its scales. The creature shook again. More men were flung through the air like dolls. The creature suddenly stopped. It stopped its neck low to the surface of the ice, appearing as though it might vomit. But then, a far worse realization dawned on them.
“Draaaagooonnnn!” bellowed Gareth. “Take cover!”
The Orc-eel unsheathed its wings, fluttering them to shake off all of the ice. The black scales had blended the wings right in, allowing them to remain unnoticed.
Gareth broke into a sprint, going straight toward the dragon. The Orc-eel was preoccupied, hooks and spears clinging to its side and irritating it. Gareth ran up the side of the Orc-eel, losing his crossbow in the process, and using the protruding scales as footholds. He ran along its back and then found himself at its neck with his sword in hand. Elric cued in, realizing now was the time to go for it. He ran closer, coming from the dragon’s blindside. The weak spot was right there—he saw it. He placed the bolt in its spot on the crossbow and came to a halt on the ice, three yards away.
“Forget this,” muttered Elric. The crossbow was taking long to set. He put the crossbow down. He was going to pierce the monster with the tip of his sword. Before he could do so, he felt a jolt of sharp pain and the wind was knocked out of him. The Orc-eel had reared its wing back and slammed it into Elric from behind. He went flying. He slid along the ice, landing right where Gareth had been moments prior.
Gareth was on top of the dragon’s neck and head, struggling to stay balanced. He lifted his sword high into the air, preparing for the deadly blow. The Orc-eel shook its head angrily. Gareth nearly fell off, one of his hands grabbing at one of the protruding scales from its neck. He pulled himself back up.
The Orc-eel had charged up a deep-bellied blast of ice, turning its head at the largest cluster of men and firing an arctic blast of ice. Thirty men were frozen in an instant. Gareth watched on in horror, his men frozen like a fossil in ice. Gareth leapt to the top of the creature's head, holding on for dear life as it shook and yanked its head around like a rope but Gareth was secured tightly with both hands, his belly low to the beast’s neck. He gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands and brought it down in a ferocious drive. The blade sunk deep into the Orc-eel's head, piercing its head with a deadly blow. Its body went limp and crashed down onto the ice. The lurch of its dead body was enough to yank Gareth from the Orc-eel and down onto the ice with his sword still embedded in its head.
The weight of the Orc-eel's dead body plunged into the ice, breaking it into a hundred different pieces. The icy waters charged up around the beast. Gareth felt himself go numb as he slammed into the hard ice, sliding down into the cold waters below. He caught the edge of a plate of ice but his body was already submerged. He couldn’t breathe. His lungs were frozen.
Elric was there in a flash, having just recovered from the blow of its wing.
“Save me, brother,” muttered Gareth desperately. All around them men were screaming, fighting for their lives to stay above the ice.
Elric stammered over to Gareth, standing just above him.
“Save me,” Gareth managed. His grip was slipping.
Elric got onto his knees, preparing to pull him from the deadly waters. He looked down at Gareth, his head nearly submerged. He clasped Gareth’s hand, preparing to pull him from the water. A glimmer of hope filled Gareth’s eyes. His will to fight and survive was there, although dim. His mind was beginning to slip.
Elric let go of Gareth’s hand, allowing Gareth to slip down into the icy waters. He saw Gareth’s eyes glaze over as he dipped into the water and disappeared below the ice.
“You wouldn’t have made it anyways, dear brother," whispered Elric.
Elric leaped up onto the Orc-eel, grabbing the hilt of the sword with both hands. He yanked and, with much force, barely managed to free it from the dragon’s head. He leapt off, staggering to regain his footing on the splitting ice.
A loud crack whipped out across the tundra. The ice was cracking. The sound was deafening and the ripple of the crack was reverberating across the entire tundra. Some men had sunk into the water and disappeared to their deaths. Some were knocked unconscious by the chaos that had just occurred.
“Come on!” shouted Elric to his men. “We must go, now!”
Men began to make for safety. There were four miles to run on the ice before they were safely off of the frozen waters. Others were staring confused at Elric, wondering where their Lord Commander had gone.
“Where’s Gareth?” one man shouted. Men echoed the concern.
“There’s no time,” replied Elric. “Come on–we must go now if you want to live.”
Elric turned, running across the ice. Others followed suit. The wind was starting to howl and the ice was going to break soon. Lightning flashed and then a peal of thunder jolted the land. The vibration was felt underfoot as the men scrambled to make it to land. There were about fifty men who had survived the bout with the dragon. A few were slowly dropping off as they ran.
Some collapsed. Some were beginning to freeze to death. Others could not feel their legs or feet and simply felt their bodies stiffen up and stop working.
“We can’t stop now,” said Elric. “We must find somewhere to make a fire, but not here. We’ll never survive this far north.”
Men reluctantly followed after Elric. After another couple hours of dragging their feet, they finally made it to a spot that had trees and light underbrush that was growing over the ice. It was enough to make a fire. The men huddled together, first warming their hands to prevent frostbite, and then their toes. Others warmed their faces first and suffered the consequences. Many men lost their toes, fingers, and limbs on the expedition back to Windem.
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Nearly a month later, the host was back within a mile of Windem. The final count of men that had made it home was twelve. Two were laid across horseback with missing limbs. The other ten hung their heads as they came within sight of Rarington Castle, where the Kingdom of Windem awaited their heroes. Women and children stood along either side of the path leading to the front gates. Smiles and excited waves quickly disappeared as the small score of men returning was realized.
They had killed the fabled Orc-eel and Gareth had been the hero. But there was no proof of the creature’s killing and there was no Gareth in that host of twelve men that made it back. Amidst the group of waiting women and children was Gareth’s wife, Mildred, and Gareth’s six-year-old son, Tristan. Elric was the first to greet Mildred. Her eyes were already watering. Her lips quivered and her body convulsed. Mildred gave one last look into Elric’s downcast eyes, hoping beyond hope that there was a chance. Maybe he had just fallen behind…
Elric grabbed Mildred’s arms, holding her in front of him to steady her. He eyes lifted to meet hers, and then he shook his head. Mildred released a loud sob, crumbling to the ground as she lost all feeling in her legs. Elric caught her and held her. Tristan looked to Elric and his mother, realization dawning on him. He turned to run but the King had seen the situation and anticipated the boy’s dismay. Tristan looked up at the King with a blank look. He did not know what to feel.
“Tristan,” said King Tarren. “Do not be afraid. Everything is going to be okay.” The King hoisted Tristian up into his arms. Tristan threw his arms around the King and squeezed him tightly.
Tristan was scared. He just wanted to see his father, but he was gone. A small part of him still expected to see his father coming over that hill like he always did, a big smile spread across his face.
But he never did.
