A Story Less told (The Legend of Greg) Book 1 of 2

Chapter 2: The Gift

There was a gentle creaking in the woods, an unearthly groan as of nature herself was stretching as she awoke. An old man followed the smell of smoke and as he reached a clearing, he stood silently, bowing his head in great sadness at the sight before him. A large clearing was scorched and destroyed, trees lying around the ground, chopped and charred. He feared this much, feeling a heavy burden of sadness like he had lost a close friend. He listened for the sounds of trees and heard nothing. He pried himself over the fallen logs with his walking staff, to get a better view. He searched for a while, starting to give up and head back when he heard a small creaking, like an old floor no longer comfortable with bearing a footstep. He rushed to the edge of the clearing and discovered a small sapling. He smiled through his sadness.

"You are all alone aren't you, little guy?" he smiled, trying to comfort the tree. A portly young man of 16 years old, huffed and followed to see what his master had found.

"What happened here?" he wheezed.

"South Elm Army. They kill everything they cannot control." sighed the old man.

"I don't understand, they're just trees, what did they ever do to them?" he asked, feeling heavy hearted as well.

"Nothing, nothing at all. They knew of the power these trees possessed and since they could not understand them, they had to destroy them. Only this poor sapling remains." he said.

"We must protect him. Can you cast a spell of protection?" the boy asked.

"No foolish lad, magic requires a sacrifice. I was unable to even hide the walking swamp from the darkness, I could not begin to protect this poor creature where he stands. We must remove him, take him with us." he sighed.

"How can we move a tree without killing it?" asked the young man.

"He is a Walking Oak, young apprentice...we need only to guide him." he smiled.

The young man prepared the soup for a late dinner, always looking out the window to check on the tree they had planted outside the cabin.

"Do not lose focus Alden, mind the food. The sapling will stay where he is." said the old man, reading his book.

"Sir...I can feel him watching me. What if he is afraid?" Alden asked.

"He is afraid, and he should be. He is the last Walking Oak in this land, perhaps as far as Engelhill. He survived by the grace of the forest gods, only to see his people burned and chopped down. Luckily he is too young to understand and may soon forget." he said, walking to a pile of metal that was partially covered in cloth. He sat down and began engraving it with a small mallet and chisel as Alden cooked away.

"Some day you must teach me the magic of Alchemy." he said softly.

"Far too advanced for you. How can you learn to wield the forbidden magic if you cannot even make soup?" he asked, raising his attention to the pot that was boiling over.

"I'm sorry, sir." he apologized.

"Do not apologize. Only do what you can to learn from your errors. You are but a boy, and not a particularly smart one at that. You can make a fine friend, even a useful cook with some time, but a mage you are not. You do not have the fire within." he said tapping away in the runes he had whittled in the metal. Alden nodded meekly, tending to his chores.

Later that night, he left the warmth of the cabin and brought a pot of hot water with him to the sapling.

"Are you cold?" he asked it, rolling his eyes at the dumbness of asking a tree, as if it could reply. He placed the pot in front of it. "It is very hot right now, so let it rest before you drink it. I am very sorry about your people. South Elm doesn't care for anything that cannot strengthen its army. Sir will take care of you." he assured. The tree did as a tree does... nothing at all. Alden shivered and sat down on an old stump, feeling strange since it may seem like sitting on the corpse of the sapling's kind. He was unsure of the sapling knew the difference between a walking tree and a normal one. He jumped slightly at the sound of large wings flapping to propel it along above the treetops. A dragon, big one by the sound of the air it displaced. He held still, knowing they are normally passive unless provoked. Still, such a creature was unsettling. He checked the water and decided it was not hot enough to burn the sapling, so he made his way back inside, leaving the pot behind. He crept in slowly so he would not wake Sir, slumped over his work and snoring fairly loud. He had been working on that armor for years, since before Alden found the place. It would never be finished, not really. Every detail was tended to as of the world depended on its every line being exact. Sir was a strange man, never spoke of his past, and always dodged the questions with proverbs and snippets of wisdom.