“What about knarls and Vixs?”
From the other side of the hall Damon
lets out a dark booming laugh. My lips
knit together as he rises to his feet, ale in one hand, and rocks over to me,
each step echoes loud and sturdy against the stone walls. The hall silences, the flames flicker, and
everyone turn their eyes to him.
“You
think your worst nightmares are knarls and Vixs?” Damon mocks as he strides
towards me, “Pixies and Nymphs?” he cackles slamming his goblet on the table. He kneels to my level and grabs me gruffly by
the shoulder. “The real danger,” he eyes me closely before continuing. My breath catches in my throat. “Is the
wolves. “ His eyes glimmer dangerously.
“They come in packs little lad, as
the night falls and the trees grow dark. Sometimes you can’t tell if it’s the wind
howling or not. And when yer not lookin’
they’ll surround yeh quicker before you can think… and get yeh.” I jump; a terrified whisper escapes through
my lips. He chuckles and pats my shoulders before standing.
“When
you’re out there!” He calls to the rest of the hall, “Deadrist isn’t just
another forest. All the stories your
mothers told you of the creatures and monsters lurking in the dark are the
likes of singsongs and too much wine! It’s
not the trolls that will crush you, but the tree’s… nor the pixies that will
enchant you, but the flowers.” He turns
back to me and takes a swig out of his goblet.
“It’s
not the knarls and Vixs you have to worry about little lad. It’s what’s real, that’s dangerous.”