Bearers of the Black Staff - Terry Brooks [48]
It took them another hour to reach their destination, a huge old shade tree with a thick, almost impenetrable canopy that even in a steady rain such as this one kept the earth around the trunk dry for twenty feet in all directions. Smaller trees clustered close about the larger, a brood nurtured by their mother, and while the storm raged without it was calm and dry within their shelter. Tired and cold, the boy and the girl moved over to the trunk and dropped their gear. Wordlessly, they separated, moving to opposite sides of the trunk where they stripped off their wet clothing, dried off as best they could, and put on the spare set of clothes they had packed before leaving.
“Can we have a fire?” Prue asked when they had rejoined each other. “It would help us to dry out and warm up. If you think we’re safe now.”
He did, so he agreed. He gathered stray wood from within the shelter of the grove, and then ranged a little farther out to add some more. He kindled the wood with his flint and soon had flames curling up from a small pile of shavings and mosses. The fire was cheerful and welcome in the darkness and damp, crackling in steady counterpoint to the patter of the rain. Prue set out food for them to eat, and soon they were consuming a meal they hadn’t quite realized they were so hungry for.
Pan’s thoughts drifted once more to home and the series of events that had led them to flee it, wondering how it was that circumstance and chance played so large a part in the twists and turns his life had taken. He didn’t regret what had happened, though; he knew it was their good fortune to discover the danger because at least they were doing something about it where others might have done nothing. That they were fugitives was unfortunate, but not permanent; the situation would correct itself eventually when they were proven right. He had the confidence and faith of the young that there was time and space enough for anything. You just had to be patient; you just had to believe.
“It isn’t right that they can do this to us,” Prue said softly, her eyes lowered as they cleaned the dishes. “Skeal Eile and his followers, chasing us away like this. You know it isn’t.”
“I know. And Eile doesn’t seem the sort to let something like that bother him, either. What’s right for him is whatever’s necessary to keep him leader of the Children of the Hawk.”
“You would think someone would notice that his moral compass is broken. Are his followers all blind?”
Panterra shrugged. “In a way, I think maybe they are. They want so hard to believe in what they’ve been taught that they find ways to rationalize things they wouldn’t stand for otherwise. They need to keep their faith intact or risk losing it. No one likes letting go of what they have always believed, even when they know it’s right to do so.”
“But you think the Elves will see things differently.” She made it a statement of fact.
“I think the Orullians will. I think some of their family will. If we convince even those few, we have a chance of convincing the others.”
They talked some more about the future, agreeing that on their arrival later tomorrow they needed to sit the Orullian siblings down and tell them everything. No delays, no standing on ceremony, no equivocation—just lay it out there and let them ponder on it.
After a time, their eyes grew heavy and they curled up in their blankets. Because the skies were still overcast, the darkness was very nearly complete. The air remained chill and damp, and not even the dry ground beneath the chestnut could help with that. A shivering Prue hunched