The men of Longfirth looked to the bounty of the sea for most of their food, on fishing ships carried forward by the winds. The stench of fish was heavy in the air as the carriage passed the harbor, with several fishing ships sitting by the docks. Larger ships sat in the harbor as well, the humans of the city engaged in commerce with lands to the South, their hulls laden with what could be despoiled from the wild forests around them. Or so the noisy human had prattled on about as they left the castle.
With humans prone to gathering, Longfirth became the primary hub of such commercial activity in the North. Attracting more humans, that attracted yet more humans, like rats in filth. The stench of Longfirth was overwhelming to a centaur that had spent a millennia living in the Evergreen. Wholly untouched by the wretched industries of Man, their only touch upon that wild forest was their blood.
The sun was high in the sky and it seemed as though the sun was baking the city, making its putrid smells more potent. The world swam in a blurry haze as Avalon tried to focus on the roof of the carriage, covered in a thin layer of felt. It had been freshly cleaned, but there were a few, tiny balls of mixed fabric clinging to its surface. The noisy woman leaned forward from her seat to dab at the sweat on Avalon’s forehead. “The smell can’t be that bad. It was too soon to leave the castle, maybe you’re still sick.”
Avalon’s words came out in a grumble, but coherent enough. “The smell is that bad, but I will be fine.”
When the carriage stopped in front of a building where wheels were being constructed, Avalon half expected to see at least one familiar face. Maybe one of the men who had visited Harold’s court during the one day Avalon had joined him, but it was a different wheel maker altogether. How many wheels could this city need?
The wheelmaker ordered his apprentices to help the porters load wheels onto the wagon. Avalon climbed out of the carriage, stepping onto the stone path the human’s built to direct movement through their city. He walked towards the wheelmaker to greet him as Harold intended him to, with the noisy woman following close behind as Gunnar climbed from his horse to join them. The wheelmaker pretended not to notice, staring pointedly at his apprentices as they lifted a wheel onto the porter’s wagon, but turned suddenly and threw his hands into the air.
“Lady Aurora, what a surprise! I heard you recovered from your illness, but it’s good to see you walking out and about.”
Avalon couldn’t understand why this stranger was happy. The servants in the castle, he could understand, they all lived close to Aurora. More importantly, they lived close to Harold and were in his employment. Like the inner circle of a warparty, who were sworn to provide him with their service.
“Yes, I-” Avalon coughed from the dusty air in the front yard, where a wheel was left out to bake in the sum. “I am well enough, but the sights and the smells of the city are overwhelming.”
He wanted to emphasize the smells, but nobody else was as sensitive to them. It was only his weakness that made them as poignant as they were. He also didn’t want to offend the man who lived in it. A centaur’s den could stink of rot, but to speak of it meant to shame them and that always invited trouble.
“The smells are certainly intense. The pollen came with the spring, but the city has certain foul odors unique to such places.” The noisy woman said, despite her earlier words in the carriage.
If the wheelmaker took any offense to the noisy woman’s words, he showed no signs of it. “My cousin spoke of such things when he came to this city from our homeland, but the cities in the South are larger than Longfirth. More people, stronger smells.”
“How could such a thing be possible?” Avalon swayed with the thought and Gunnar steadied him with a hand on his shoulder.
“Lady Aurora is still recovering.” The noisy woman pulled him gently towards the carriage. “Come, the porters are nearly finished packing the wheels.”
“How much more of this must I bear?” Avalon asked as he climbed into the carriage and slumped into his seat.
“Only a few stops. We’ll be finished by evening, but we can return to the castle if you’d like.” The noisy woman said.
“No, no.” Avalon sighed and rubbed his temples. “I want to visit the forest. It would be good to see the green again.”
“The green?” Gunnar asked.
Avalon shut his eyes and leaned into his seat, folding his arms to warm himself against the chill crawling up his spine. “The green of the forest, of course.”
The porters called out to Gunnar, telling him they were ready to move. When Gunnar gave his permission, the carriage swayed into the movement and left the wheelmaker's shop. Avalon could hear the wheelmaker yell from the side of the road, “Tell your father I send my greetings, if you please.”
A few more stops were left, but Avalon had failed to ask how many. The carriage arrived at a building where metal clattered against metal, a place that the noisy woman called a smithy, and Gunnar informed him there were only five stops left. Five stops to collect trivial items and to make a show of himself, that’s what Avalon had been reduced to.
The smithy they approached was open from the front, an entire section of wall missing to allow the smoke from the furnace to blow away in the wind. The smith was hard at work, hammering at a glowing chunk of iron, but handed his tools to a much younger man as soon as he saw Avalon. The younger man continued the smith’s work eagerly as the smith himself greeted his guests.
He was as happy to see his lord’s offspring as the last man had been and asked Avalon if he wanted to see the armor that Harold had commissioned for Aurora’s brother. He gestured to a stack of armor on a table, each polished thoroughly until it gleamed in the sunlight. They were impressive pieces of craftsmanship as far as Avalon could tell, but there was a problem.
“They’re all far too big for Gareth. He’s just a boy-child, it’s not something he can wear if Harold intends to send him to war.” Avalon dragged a finger across the smooth surface of the breastplate. Almost like an elven mirror, it unsettled Avalon to see Aurora’s face staring back at him.
Gunnar laughed and pulled Avalon’s attention away from the armor. “This armor is for your other brother. He’s in the capital with your sister.”
Another brother? Avalon wondered. “Does he expect fighting at the capital?”
Gunnar lifted a thick slab of steel, a helmet that would sacrifice most of its wearer’s mobility in exchange for protection. “It’s tourney armor. This helmet is for jousting, too heavy for anything else. The breastplate though?” Gunnar set the helmet onto a table, the weight of all that metal hitting the wood with a thud. He knocked on the breastplate a few times, then lifted it to check its weight. “He could use it with a more practical helmet in a melee. Or outside a tourney even.”
“Maybe I should get some armor of my own.” Avalon said.
Centaurs rarely used armor, as they were naturally tough, but humans by comparison were naturally soft. It’s why they all went into battle in a panoply of metal and grouped together for protection. He tried to imagine wearing such a suit of metal into battle, but the concept was too alien. Even riding a horse into battle wasn’t something he could understand, he had four legs of his own to gallop into battle when he was a centaur. To rely on a horse to do his running for him wasn’t something he had to consider.
The noisy woman inspected the armor with a scarf over her face, as though the smoke from the furnace was as foul to her as the city itself was to Avalon. It was all the same human stink to him, but the noisy woman frowned at the smoking blazing furnace. “Swordplay is one thing, but armor is another. Do YOU expect to see fighting?”
“Perhaps I might.” Avalon said honestly.
“Your new husband will have guards to protect you, he is a very wealthy man. You won’t need to waste your time with such frivolities.”
“And if I want to?”
The noisy woman sighed. “Perhaps your husband will allow it.”
Allow? Avalon didn’t like how that sounded. Would he be beholden to his will as he was beholden to Harold’s? “If I have arms and armor, I can be the one to allow it.”
“A lady has important responsibilities to her household. There is no room for mercenaries and other such vagabonds in a civilized society.”
“War is the natural state of all things.” The words escaped Avalon’s lips before he thought better of them. The smith’s eyes widened as far as the noisy woman’s did, their sensibilities estranged from those of a centaurs.
Gunnar was unique among the other humans. “She has a point there.” He said and unsheathed his sword. The sound of the blade pulling free from its scabbard sang in the air and eyes around the smithy focused on its bearer. “See? The blade sings and all must hear. It demands respect.”
The noisy woman scoffed. “It’s just a sword, it demands nothing.”
We need to keep moving, this idle chatter brings us no closer to the forest. Morgan’s voice was laced with impatience. Unlike Avalon, who had been away from the Evergreen for barely a month, Morgan must have waited a great deal longer, however long he had been trapped in the old treasury in Castle Longfirth. Look to your left. It’s the boy.
Avalon turned and found Gareth in a narrow path between two buildings, clad in his wolf-head cloak. The boy-child beckoned him to follow, but when Avalon turned to follow, Gunnar put an arm on his shoulder. “Sorry, can’t let you do that.”
The rudeness of the action startled Avalon for a moment, before he remembered himself. “I will return shortly, you can come with me if you like.”
“The alleys are no place for anyone, especially not a lady such as yourself. No, we’ll not be doing that.”
“Then I will return to the carriage.” Avalon turned and left without saying another word. He doubted he could change the old warrior’s mind and didn’t care to. Gareth would be at the castle when he returned.
The next few stops went by, uneventful, as the carriage strolled northward. Avalon remained silent outside of greeting the humans on Gunnar’s list, the bare minimum. He didn’t want to waste more time giving or receiving opinions, not when it kept him and Morgan from leaving the city.
Are we still being followed? Avalon asked Morgan, as he gazed out the window. People were becoming scarcer along the road.
There are fewer of them now, but yes.
How many are they?
Six, matching the current number of Gunnar and his guards. If the rider he had dispatched returns, they will outnumber our pursuers. By one.
Perhaps we will not have to fight. It was assuring news, Avalon had time to gather more strength. Perhaps test Morgan’s as well.
The carriage approached the northern limits of the city and the air became clearer. Not by much, it still stank of human filth, but it was enough for him to breathe easier. He was becoming accustomed to the city’s smells too quickly for his own liking. When they stopped at a wharf, an old man was ready for them. His blood relation to Gunnar was evident at first sight.
Gunnar threw his arms around the man in an embrace that lifted him off the ground. While he was thickly built like Gunnar was, time had withered the man. “Uncle! Have you the fish?”
“Of course, nephew, now put me down. Boys! Bring the fish, what are you laggards waiting for?” Gunnar returned the old man to his feet and he doubled over to rub his back. Boys rolled barrels toward the wagons, which the porters lifted with ease. They waved them closer toward a wooden shack, where they brought more barrels. Each one stinking with a scent unnatural to the sea, but the smell of fish was still there. “Pickled herring, as requested.”
“Such strong boys you’ve grown up to be!” Gunnar said as he lifted the boys onto his shoulders, allowed the barrels they rolled to slip away.
The boys squealed as Gunnar spun. “The fish! The fish!” Gunnar set them down and the boys quickly returned to their duties.
Avalon approached and Gunnar’s uncle bent in a half-nod, half-bow. “Lady Aurora, I see you are doing well.”
“This is my uncle, Gunther. It’s confusing sometimes, but you’ll get used to it.” Gunnar said as he clapped the old man on the back.
“It’s nice to meet you, Gunther, uncle of Gunnar.” Avalon said, returning a smile of his own to the old man. “As for your question, I am better than I was before, now that I’m here. The air is clearer in this part of the city, but I hope the air will be clearer still once we head into the forests.” Avalon said.
Gunther guffawed. “You’re taking this sweet girl into the wilderness? You scoundrel, it’s dangerous in those forests.”
“It will be fine, we won’t travel too far north. Besides, we can find lodging at the ranger’s station. We’ll have a clear view of our surroundings there, the guards and I can keep her safe. Or drag her back to the city, if need be.”
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Gunther pursed his lips, but said nothing more about the subject. “Perhaps young Aurora would like to taste some herring? Your great-grandfather ate this among his fellow adventurers, or so I’ve heard. Long before Longfirth became the city it is today.”
“That’s Lady Aurora to you, old fish man.” The noisy woman said. “And those fish are for the larder.”
“It’s not all the pickled herring I’ve got.” The old fish man said with a shrug.
“I would like a taste.” Avalon said, unable to help his curiosity.
Gunther walked into his wooden shack and returned with a clay pot. When he removed the lid, a fragrant smell wafted from the pot. An interesting smell that made the noisy woman frown, as she did at the smithy, but it wasn’t as offensive as the city. Not to Avalon, at least.
“Hold out your hand.” Gunther said and Avalon allowed him to place a small fish into his palm.
“I eat this?” Avalon asked.
“Yes, as it is.”
Avalon opened wide and stuffed the small fish into his mouth. The old man nodded and smiled, like an elder centaur might smile at a young foal hitting a target with a bow and arrow for the first time. Not the center, but around the corners.
The pickled herring was salty and tasted strangely of smoke as Avalon chewed, but his experiences with human food weren’t as varied enough to render judgment. It was enough to say that he liked it, as he liked all the foods he tasted so far. When he wiped his hand on his cloak, the noisy woman gasped.
“Oh dear, you’re going to stain that cloak. What are you thinking, wiping that fish oil on it?” She said, using a cloth to wipe at the cloak where Avalon had cleaned his palm. There was a dark mark and no amount of wiping would remove it.
“I was careless.” Avalon was forced to admit. “I didn’t mean to ruin it.”
He removed the cloak and handed it to the noisy woman’s assistant, but the noisy woman was more exasperated than before. Gunthar whistled at the sword on Avalon’s belt and he remembered why he had worn the cloak in the first place, but it was too late to hide the sword.
“Nice sword.” Was all Gunther said, making Avalon question why he had to hide the sword in the first place. It didn’t seem to bother anyone the way he expected it to.
“Thank you.” Avalon nodded at the old fish man and returned to the carriage, feeling Morgan’s impatience. “Gunnar, as you promised. It’s time to visit the forest.”
When the carriage left the gates of the city, its portcullis larger than the castle’s, Morgan’s impatience turned to excitement. The intensity of his emotion, leaking from the sword, remained in its heightened state. As they edged closer to the forest, Avalon could feel his reserves of magic growing. A small drop compared to the power he once possessed, but enough that he felt restless in his seat.
Morgan was also feeling revitalized by his proximity to nature, his spirit in the sword becoming more vibrant. Avalon was sitting tense in his seat, legs aching to run wild, but the carriage stopped at the ranger’s station. A cabin made of logs and dirt. Just short of where he, and Morgan, wanted to travel.
Avalon could feel Morgan’s rage burning through his sword. We can’t stop now, we are so close. Home! I am almost home!
They will not allow us to leave their sight, but I have a plan.
“This fresh air is wonderful, I feel myself getting better already! With your permission, I would like to stay the night!” Avalon spoke loudly and boldly. The words were truthful, but they didn’t possess the entire truth.
Gunnar looked at the few strangers gathered near the ranger’s station, a merry band of men and women in armor or long flowing robes. Adventurers, if Avalon guessed correctly. The old warrior was scratching his beard, deep in thought, when help came from an unexpected place.
“She does seem in good health now.” The noisy woman said. “A night in this clean air might be exactly what she needs to finally cure her afflictions.”
A night near the forest would do exactly that. After all, Sparrow had failed to poison his victim. Every night would see Avalon stronger than the one before, days as well. And he hoped that visiting the forest under the cover of night, while everyone was asleep, would restore his power. Gunnar was hesitant when he spoke, but it didn’t matter. He accepted the proposal and Avalon felt his victory draw near.
Avalon placed a hand on his sword and spoke to Morgan. Are we still being followed?
Yes, but those that left have now returned with reinforcements.
Good! Once we return to our full strength, they will be our first test! They shall be rent asunder, their lamentations the chorus to herald our glory!
We will vanquish our foes. Justice is on our side.
Morgan spoke peculiar words. He may have been a kindred spirit of the forests, but he was a spirit from forests outside of the Evergreen. Justice is on our side? It was certainly true, the justice of the mighty vanquishes all foes. Avalon could overlook the subtle differences in their words.
After the horses were tied up in the stables and the wagons were secured, everyone entered the ranger’s station just in time for dinner, orange fires burning calmly to light the hall. As the northernmost outpost outside of the city, it served a variety of functions, catering to rangers, adventurers, and hunters alike. Many of whom spent time in one or both of the other occupations. Not that Avalon understood the difference, seeing as they all plundered riches from these northern forests.
They ate from a stew that the hunters had prepared, hunting over the course of the day, in addition to food that had been preserved beforehand. From across the table, Avalon watched Gunnar down a tankard of mead. The noisy woman, who Avalon learned was named Isabel, wagged her finger at him and voiced her disapproval. “You shouldn’t be getting drunk!”
“This isn’t enough to get me drunk.” Gunnar insisted. “Okay, one last tankard. I promise.”
“The last one should have been your last one.”
Avalon smiled and asked if he could sample the beverage, its intoxicating nature reminded him of the ambrosia from home. His new body had never felt its golden touch, but still found himself craving it all the same and hoped the mead would be enough to end the cravings.
Don’t get drunk, we have to leave during the night.
Just a taste. With luck, our pursuers will also sleep when these other humans do.
Isabel allowed Avalon a taste from her tankard and he was surprised Gunnar hadn’t been the first to make the offer, likely wishing to drink it himself. He sipped on the mead and found it weaker than ambrosia, in truth. If it made him feel anything, it was because his human body was weaker than that of a centaur, but Avalon said nothing. He swallowed several mouthfuls of mead until Isabel pulled the tankard away.
“Don’t become a drunkard. Goodness, child.” Isabel said, but Gunnar chuckled beside her.
“She’s not a drunkard, just got a strong belly is all.”
When dinner ended, Avalon was given a room to himself. Gunnar slept in the room beside him, while Isabel and her assistant would sleep in the carriage, allowing Avalon the privacy he needed to leave in the night. However, he found himself swaying with every step, struggling to even walk down the stairs.
You’re drunk. And you’re a fool. Morgan materialized from his sword to carry Avalon in his arms.
I did not realize a few sips would reduce me to such a state. Mead to this weak body is like the first taste of ambrosia to a young centaur. Take me to the forest to commune with nature and see me restored. “Hence- Henceforth.”
Do not speak aloud, you will alert the humans who are still awake. They are in the tower.
Morgan’s bare feet were silent on the dirt floor as he made his way out of the station, pushing past the heavy wooden door at its entrance with ease. He looked up at the tower protruding from the main body of the station, checking for guards, but they were looking northward. So he moved south, along the road, before heading east, towards the trees.
“Where are our pursuers?” Avalon wondered aloud.
They were asleep, but have begun to awaken. Perhaps they intend to attack in the night.
“Of course, that makes sense. Outnumber the enemy and ambush in the night. It’s a sound strategy.”
Morgan dashed through between trees, his movement obscured in the night and by the trees surrounding him, seemingly unhindered by Avalon’s weight. The forest around them thickened considerably as he traveled further northwards, without a straight path forward, but Morgan pushed forward with haste. Legs carried by the magic building in his physical frame, until the magic growing in Avalon’s own body rendered him sober.
Stop, put me down. Avalon commanded, his body growing warm with power.
The branches above rustled in the wind as the moon ascended, its face gazing down at him. Unlike the twins, this moon was as silent and pale as the Observer, the third moon. The stranger who watched the world from its perch atop the night. Perhaps, they were one in the same.
Avalon knelt on the grass, feeling the roots sprawling beneath and the familiar energy of nature. It answered his call, welcoming him as their magic flooded into his small vessel, but Avalon pulled away. The magic of the Evergreen was absent from this forest, its eternal strength nowhere to be found.
The forest is magnificent, is it not? Morgan proclaimed, basking in the energy of his home and paying no mind to Avalon.
He dropped to his knees and clutched his burning chest, as the forest’s alien magic swirled inside of him. It blended with the last reserves of the Evergreen’s magic left within him, but there was too much all at once. Aurora’s body was too small, too fragile, to contain the forest’s might, as Avalon was too unfamiliar with its magic to tame.
He tried to call for Morgan, but his voice came out in short moans. His mind, blank with pain. To his shame, hot tears streamed from his eyes and he slumped over.
You overestimate yourself. The somber spirit said through their shared link, voice calm despite Avalon’s frenzied fear. Your spirit is too strong for this mortal flesh, you must strengthen the bonds holding it together before you can concentrate this much raw power.
Too. Late. Help. Avalon grit his teeth and shut his eyes, feeling sweat trickle down his forehead.
Use the magic, saturate your body with it. It will strengthen this vessel and reduce this overflowing reserve of power. Morgan was kneeling over him now, hand on his chest. Do as I do, quickly.
Beneath Morgan’s hand, along the surface of his skin, Avalon felt the forest’s magic, like seeds blooming into flowers. Clumsy with his newly-mixed reserves of power, Avalon showered the flowers with magic. Inefficient as it was, rupturing the skin where too much magic was concentrated, it allowed the flower’s roots to spread throughout his body until its entire surface was covered in a thick tangle.
Like a vessel within a vessel, it prevented his magic from exploding outward into the world. Avalon breathed easier and was thankful the blood on his chest was the extent of his injuries. The ethereal flowers on his chest, within his body and brimming with magic of their own, began mending the skin around it.
A black sword pierced through Morgan’s chest from behind and the spirit dissipated into ether, returning to his sword. Sparrow stood behind where Morgan had been, confusion evident on his face. “Bloody hells!” He said as he looked between Morgan’s sword and the blood on Avalon’s chest. “I don’t know what that thing was, but seeing the state of you, maybe I should’ve let it kill you.”
Avalon stood, joints popping as they acclimated to his new strength. “You are a fool if you think he was trying to kill me. Can’t you feel the magic?” He stared at his hands, still small as they had been, but there was power concentrated in its very flesh.
When he called out to Morgan, the spirit was silent. Present in the weapon, but dormant like a bear in hibernation.
Sparrow scoffed, turning his beak nose up at Avalon. “What do you know of magic, girl?”
“You stink of Death’s touch, how could you not know?”
The man narrowed his eyes at Avalon. “I know enough.” He trailed a finger over his sword and left a flickering trail of black fire that stank as he did.
“What is that magic on your sword? I am unfamiliar with its energy.” Avalon said and Sparrow swung his sword back and forth, letting the blade sing through the air.
“As you said, it stinks of Death’s touch. That’s enough to know.” Sparrow leapt forward and, with both hands, swung his sword down at Avalon.
Avalon hopped to the side and pushed Sparrow with a hand, sending him flying into a tree. The impact cracked bone and Sparrow coughed blood. A shaking hand wiped his mouth and panicked eyes fixated on Avalon, wide enough that he could see Aurora’s reflection staring back at him. Her eyes glowing yellow and antlers sprouting from her forehead.
“How is this possible?” Sparrow gasped and tried to flee. A root raised itself to trip him and sent him sprawling onto the ground, dropping his sword. He patted the ground, as if blind. “Shit! Shit! Where is it!”
“Can’t you see?” Avalon asked as he sauntered to the sword, lifting into the air and extinguishing its black flames. The entire forest was glowing gold with magic now, offended by Sparrow’s very presence. It demanded blood and Avalon was happy to deliver.
Sparrow waved a hand and black flames shot out in a wide arc. A tree branch bent down, at Avalon’s command, and drank the flames. Dark energy spread along the branch, withering the tree as it went, until Avalon severed the branch and smothered the flames.
When Avalon turned to find Sparrow, the man was already running, inciting him to pursue. He collected Morgan’s sword and, like a centaur on a hunt, loped through the forest. He was faster than Morgan had been and spurred forth by the promise of violence.
A thin branch lowered along his path and Avalon seized it, molding the wood with his magic around Sparrow’s sword until it extended from the handle. A long-bladed short-spear, it almost had the length Avalon was accustomed to as a centaur.
Despite Sparrow’s head start, Avalon caught the man with ease. The man swung a hand and sent another arc of black flame through the air, but Avalon ducked and sliced through one of the man’s heels with his spear. It immobilized him and he sent tendrils of flames around him, unable to do anything else.
The forest glowed brighter, as Sparrow’s black flames roused it from slumber, and smothered his magic with its own. Sparrow cried out, in fear and confusion at the sight of the forest coming to life, overgrowth sprouting from the nature around him. “Spare me and I’ll tell you everything I know!”
Avalon didn’t care to listen. A man at the hour of his peril promised many things, but Avalon quickly discovered that he might say anything if it bought him a few seconds of life. Avalon threw his spear to embed Sparrow’s own blade into his chest, the force of the impact knocking him into his back.
The reserve of magic contained in Avalon’s new body was greater than how he found it. While a fraction of his full-strength as Beast-King of the Evergreen, it was more than enough for a creature like Sparrow. The man sputtered for breath, but Avalon called for the forest’s roots to reach up and pull him into the ground, a sacrifice for the formless spirits that dwelt within the trees.
They granted him a small boon, an apple that grew to form in mere moments. Avalon snacked on the sweet fruit, filled with rejuvenating magic that hastened the binding of the wounds on his chest. It was a tasty treat with practical purpose and Avalon expected to find more sacrifices at the ranger’s station.
The forest whispered of a fire burning to the south. Sparrow’s human collaborators had set the ranger station on fire and Avalon could see flames glowing in the night sky as they crawled up the station's tower. Avalon imagined Gunnar and Isabel, as well as the other humans at the station, fighting for their lives amidst that smoking ruin. He could leave them behind and explore the abundant nature further north, but a voice in his head told him to save the humans.
It was Morgan. They are Harold’s servants, who served him loyally as they served you.
Avalon had to acknowledge that the humans served him well enough during their short time together. He didn’t care much for them, but honor demanded he come to their rescue. The way he might for any servant of the Evergreen, who had done him good service.
Self-preservation was for lesser creatures anyway. Avalon was a proud centaur and he would not shrink away from a fight when it presented itself. To victory or to death, he had always stood his ground.
Avalon also made a boast to Morgan. An off-hand remark, to rend these foe asunder, but he gave his word regardless. He pulled his spear from the ground, its black blade gleaming in the moonlight, and held Morgan’s sword in his other hand. With the spirit promising to redeem himself in battle, having been too distracted to notice Sparrow’s approach, Avalon loped south with the forest urging him on. They were kinder to the humans than Avalon or the Evergreen had ever been.