The Pine Outrider (Heroes of Melowynn #2)

Chapter One

THE GLOTTE WOODLANDS WERE STILL THIS MORNING.

The wildlife was nervous as the dwarves entering their domain yet again seemed far too loud to the small creatures.

That was a fact I could not argue. I had come to enjoy the dwarven loggers who were working with the wood elves to set up a camp here near the base of the mighty mountains.

They were a rowdy bunch. Not that I wasn’t familiar with rowdy.

I had grown up in bandit camps, so I knew loud all too well.

I did not miss the noise or the shouting.

The woods were a sanctuary. Where things lived in peace and harmony.

If I had learned anything over the past few seasons training with Kenton, Beirich, and my other fellow druids, it was to respect the forests.

Yelling and singing at the top of your voice while marking trees to be felled was not one of them.

Must dwarves always bellow like stags? Was it hard to hear in the tangle of tunnels under the Witherhorns?

Or did growing up near constant mining make them all hard of hearing?

I had no answers, for I did my best not to spend too much time around the campfires with them.

The wood elves and I tended to keep a respectable distance.

The sloshing ale, hearty games of wrestling, and pissing contests were not to our liking very much.

Even the outgoing elves seemed to be happier in quiet contemplation or soft discussions to allow the night creatures to come out to forage while the day beasts settled down to rest. I had come to the realization that dwarves did not require much sleep.

They drank well into the wee hours of the morn and then were up at dawn to work.

A stout and sturdy bunch the rock lovers were, and I could not take that from them. Just loud. And obsessed with sex.

The roar of the dwarf several hundred feet behind me shook me from my mental walk.

Scared. Scared. Scared.

The worried thoughts of a few small brown wrens popped into my head as they took to wing.

I wanted to turn to speak to the short one with the long black beard stamping about in my wake, his chalk out to place an X on whatever tree was to be downed.

The elves and I had been quite strict about which trees were to be felled.

Only the ones whose life cycles were done or nearly so were to be cleared for the loggers to use for construction.

For every tree taken, we would plant a seedling to replace it, bless the small sapling, and tend to it over the next several seasons as it matured.

The druid clans had sent one representative to take turns living within the camp to ensure the woodlands were not trampled overmuch, nurture the saplings, and set up a small shrine to Danubia.

The dwarves had no complaints about the druidic temple, as long as they could have a small area of cold shale to kneel on for their prayers.

Pausing with my hand on a once mighty pine that had been sheared by a lightning strike, I closed my eyes to see if I could find any signs of life in the dead boughs.

The tree itself had been ribboned by the first wave of druids, those who could converse with the flora, to be taken down.

Since I was here to help set things up for the crown, I had offered my help.

The wilder warden had sent me out to touch minds with the wildlife to warn them of any felling that might drop their homes to the ground.

Tipping my head back, I blew a ginger curl from my brow as I focused on the thrum of life curled into a nest of leaves and sticks far, far above. Eyes closed, I reached out with my powers to locate a pine squirrel and her kits in the nest.

“This one next?” the chalk-coated dwarf asked, stepping up beside me, head tipping back to survey the mangled pine.

“No, no, there is a mother with kits in that nest,” I whispered, tossing him a scolding look, as I felt the familiar connection of my mind to the squirrels. She startled, chirping softly at the soft glide of my thoughts into hers. “Please lower your tone, good dwarf.”

He huffed and folded his thick arms over his broad chest. Now that the connection was made, I looked skyward, seeing the nest as it swayed in the wind.

Mother Squirrel, when your kits have left the nest so must you. This tree is to be felled.

I eased my words into her mind, using great care, for the intrusion of a voice not your own into your skull startles anyone, be they elf, dwarf, or squirrel.

Nice nest. Babies safe?

For now, but you and they must leave when it is time to bury nuts.

Sad. Sad. Safe nest. Many babies birthed. Will leave when the acorns fall.

May Danubia bless you and your young.

The dwarf was growing antsy. “What’s the outcome? This fucking forest is massive. We ain’t got time to spend all day discussing nuts with squirrels. Time is money.”

I opened my eyes and looked down and to the left. The dwarf stared at me openly, waving a muscular hand white with dust in the air. Did these people possess no patience at all?

“This tree must stay until the fall.”

I strode off to the next tree, leaving him to trundle along muttering under his breath about elves and their need to discuss shit with fucking squirrels.

It was near dusk when we completed the grid for the day.

My companion had left me to myself as soon as he could to return to his camp, which was fine.

I enjoyed my own company and that of the small ones who lived in the woods.

Truly, I was happiest when it was me and my horse riding out to try to touch the horizon.

Climbing up into a thick beech, I settled into a crook next to an old, hollowed den that once held a banded opossum.

The den was empty now, just the residual stink of shit and piss from the animal that had used it remained.

The winds were calming now, the sun a massive red orb sliding out of the sky to allow the moon sisters their time in the heavens.

The tree held me tightly as I breathed in the scent of rich loam, rotting leaves, and the clean smell of the wood.

The crackle of dry leaves below grabbed my attention.

A brown stag walked by with his nose in the air, winding the dwarves as the breeze shifted from the east to the south.

He blew hard, clearing the smell from his wet black nose, and then bolted, black tail in the air.

“Wise choice, brother deer,” I whispered as I returned my sight to the setting sun.

A small speck appeared, growing larger as the glowing scarlet sun silhouetted it.

A raven. I could tell by the shape of the bird even from this distance.

My studies at the druidic school in Celear had not been all misery.

Only the writing and reading had been shitful.

The lessons themselves, outdoors amid nature, were wondrous.

Kenton had been patient as a heron on the shore, pulling me aside from the children in the school to teach me to read.

It had not gone smoothly, but he had persisted.

Now I can read and write. Somewhat. As long as the script was simple and blocky.

Fancy calligraphy meant nothing to me. Even the easy missives were a struggle.

Many of the letters seemed to flip over or lie down sideways when I gazed at them.

Which was why I had given up as a boy when my grandmother tried to teach me.

I had better things to do, like ride, shoot arrows, swim, crawl in the dirt, and sleep with wild boar sows and their piglets.

The raven flew closer. A male, larger than a female, and more dominant in the air.

I reached out to him as he neared, the connection quick as he was used to touching minds with elves.

This raven I knew well. His name was Click, an older raven, well-seasoned with many opinions.

Ravens were incredibly smart, perhaps the smartest of all the creatures that I had the joy of interacting with here in Melowynn.

They use sticks as tools, something that only the monkeys of the Black Sands are also rumored to do.

I’d never spoken with a monkey, but Kenton and Beirich had on their journeys.

They say they are very intelligent but chatter endlessly.

Click, I am resting in the beech.

The raven already knew that. We had linked mentally seasons ago so now he could find me with ease.

My heart thumped a little faster. Perhaps this was a note from Pasil.

I’d not heard from him since I had left to come to the Glotte many suns ago.

That was unusual for he generally sent off weekly notes, short and easy to read, when I was out exploring for King Aelir.

I feel you. Flew far. Hungry. Eggs and berries.

I chuckled softly. Click was not shy about his favorite foods. I did have two hard-cooked eggs, some berries, and a soft tart with honey wrapped in cloth in my woolen satchel.

No eggs but berries.

No eggs. Click sad. Need eggs. Fly far. Will sit in pine. Wait for eggs.

Ah, the wily shitter. He thought to blackmail me. Smiling to myself, I dug into my bag, removed an egg, and held it out in my hand. The raven banked right, away from the tall pine across from me, and landed on the thick branch I was seated on.

Egg. Good egg. Click is happy. Berries?

After the egg.