Young Writers Society

The tracks were clear, for any type of dwarf, even a Dugon, leave large deep tracks. Something was gnawing at the back of Philip’s mind, but as usual, after a battle, he could not quite put his thoughts in order. The heat had not yet worn off. Seeing that the tracks were going in a straight path; he whistled for his horse. The black came and he started off at a greater speed. Suddenly it dawned on him. This Dugon, a stranger in this part of the forest, was heading for something. He rode faster.

The sound of hard breathing and heavy feet stomping through the undergrowth reached his furry ears. His hands fingered his bowstring and he notched an arrow in place. Then he rode, the black’s mane flowing behind the horse’s majestic head.

“Now,” thought Philip, “there are not many things south of the City of Trees besides, well…trees. There is an outpost further west, and he is heading west; but it is too far a walk for a Dugon. Also, why would a lone Dugon, running from his enemies, be trying to find an outpost that is stocked full of them? There is a settlement east and a little south of here, but he is certainly not going there…the only other thing is the Ancient Forest Folk ruins. But why there? The Dugon have their own ancient legends I’m sure, but how could they know of the ruins; and even if they do know about the ruins, why would they care? He must think it is a ruined fortress or something and is thinking he could hold out there. The Cyril will get him!”

He slowed his horse to a walk and glanced around. He was definitely near the ruins; quite near by the look of things. The forest around Philip was dark, not much light piercing its way through the thick canopy above him. It was densely inhabited by the Cyril, the giant spiders that he and Elyan had seen, and he could see their bright eyes shining from their high webs. They usually made their webs up in the trees and would drop down on unsuspecting victims for their food. These were the Cyril, though, not just big hungry spiders. They had been befriended and tamed by the folk of old, and even now would not hurt a Tor, but their old ways were returning and they would run from people; no longer tame or friendly. Still Philip had befriended a few of them, and those were no longer afraid of him.

They still remembered the days of old and the halls of the Ancient Folk and still protected the ruin. The Dugon would not get far. So Philip rode slowly, watching the dwarf’s large tracks. He seemed to have noticed the spiders and had swerved this way and that, trying to keep a safe distance away from their beady eyes. He still continued westward toward the ruins. Then the black neighed and there he was. The Dugon was dead and was being hauled into the snare of the high up webs. Philip let the Cyril have their way.



The path was wide for a forest road and was paved with a kind of brown slate. It led a slightly meandering route through the forest but was the fastest way to travel in those parts. The clip-clop of the black horse sounded on its hard surface and the small rider was covered with a long green cloak to keep out the evening chill. He pulled up his soft hide boots and shrugged farther into his warm covering.

The road took a sharp turn and Philip lifted his eyes to the city that he loved. The path led through a tunnel of interwoven boughs and hidden platforms high in the treetops. It was like this around the whole city; a thick section of trees that no one would take mind of. Still, if one would try to get through this section of trees, he would find himself either back where he started, or facing a group of armed Tors. Someone could get past by climbing, but he would have to be a monkey to get past the Torish, and there were platforms high up in the exceptionally tall trees. The only safe and sensible way to get into the City of Trees would be through the ‘Gate’ as the Tors called the entry way that the path took. If one was not wanted in, it would no longer be so safe for him. The Torish were in the boughs and many archers could be positioned there in times of need.

Philip came under the tall arch of trees and he heard a shout from above. He smiled as a Tor came out of the seemingly impenetrable walls of trees that were on either side of him.

He was quite a big Tor, not only upward but also outward. One could see that it was not all fat, though, for his big boned muscle was evident. Philip was surprised to see him here and bowed at his approach. His thick black beard was braided on the sides in two short parts, and the center came freely down to his large chest. His bald head shined in the waning sunlight.

“Well, you sure took your time!” said the Tor jokingly.

“I am surprised to see you here, my lord. I would have thought you to be at the council.”

“No, when I heard what happened I came to wait for you…it is all very strange.”

“Yes it is. Why would such a big group of scouts be together unless it was for war? And why would they send scouts to fight?”

“Another thing that either complicates matters, or simplifies them, is that we found another group that was heading towards the scouts; they were goblins! Mind you, GOBLINS, here in our very wood.”

“Where are they now?”

“Gone to other places mostly…or running away.”

“They might have been planning to meet each other,” mused Philip, “maybe to mount an attack on us.”

“They could not have even dented us with that number, but they don’t necessarily know our full strength yet. What worry me are the goblins. As you know, we are having a council right now with many people: men, dwarves, elves, and Tors. We are deciding on certain matters concerning the goblins of the south, and an alliance between the Dugon and goblins has been a strong suspicion of many. This just furthers the suspicions. But this is council talk, and I am much wearied of it already; so tell me about your little chase!”

Philip then relayed all of what he had seen and heard, and the older Tor’s eyes gleamed at the tale of the battle. Finally Philip finished and the king was about to tell Philip what he thought of it all when a messenger rode up.

“You are needed at the council, King Toran,” the Tor said, and at the King’s leave he rode back down the road.

“Well, I am once again pulled back into the all important matters with the long words, over plenty and over used titles, and the many formal ups and downs. Let me just say this, for I might be able to explain the mystery of your chase. I have heard that the Dugon believe that the Ancient Forest Folk had much wealth of gold and gems which they packed away in their ruins. Now they are right about the old ones’ riches, only they are ‘packed away’ in our city’s safes, not in old ruins.”

“That does explain some things…mind you, some things only,” answered Philip thoughtfully. “Well if you must be off, you must. I will speak with you later, uncle.”

“Get some rest now, you can’t run off blood, as we used to say.”

“Goodbye.”



Philip blinked as he stepped out into the bright sun, and he shut the large wooden door of his tree carefully so as to not disturb the peaceful morning silence. A sound did reach his ears, though, and he realized it was not so silent after all. The birds sang a soft melody through the lofty boughs, and a nearby stream sang its own song through the round, mossy stones of its bed. Philip approached the stream and splashed some of the clear water on his face to wash the sleep from his eyes.

He smiled as he heard the soft rush of falling water next to him. His father had diverted the stream and made it run right into the base of their tree, supplying fresh water without having to even leave the house and also providing much fun for bored kids on hot days. Philip remembered many days of playing there with Michel and others; he even played there with Elyan once when they were very young. Her father and his were old friends.

Philip looked sadly upstream, for even with the good memories came sad ones. Others used to play there with him; other creatures, friends, brothers. The stream led to the River Bruen, a deep river though not very wide. It came from the great mountains that were to the east, under which lay the land of Kyurgon. (Farther north from there were the high elves.) The dwarves of that land used to trade with the Ancient Folk, but now they did so no longer. The Ancients gave birth to the Tors, and the Eastern Dwarves crept slowly back into their holes until they could hardly be found.

Another folk also dwindled. These folk were closer to the Tors than the dwarves. The beasts of water, the blue men, the River Folk were gone. Oh, it had not been a long time; Philip still remembered the loud splashing and jumping of the creatures. They were not even much different from Tors, except with fins in place of hands. They were a part of the forest, the link between river and tree, uniting the earth and water. Those had been happy days before the darkness had come…some said that one could still hear their voices singing through the stones of the Bruen. Philip thought that it was just the void of them, the river calling for its own.

This darkness had nothing to do with light or the lack there of. Whenever great evil was afoot, the Tors would feel it, but even more so would the forest around them. Evil things would creep back into the wood and the Tors, being much akin to their forest, would also feel the bad air around them. The River Folk were always hit the worst though. A great sickness would overcome them and they would either die in their beloved bubbling water or flee to the deep.

Eventually the thing would pass, sometimes after a great war, or sometimes just after some small deed of courage. Yet as always the River Folk returned fewer. Many of them would join their savage brothers of the sea and would spend the rest of their lives pacing the ocean looking for ships to sink or storms to ride, for the sea ones liked nothing better.

That is what had happened in the recent years and Philip had a hunch that though things had always seemed to return to normal after the River Folk returned, this time it would be different.

-greenie