valor and strength

North of the forest

To be honest, up until I traveled in search of the missing guardians, I saw my father more as an authority figure than an affectionate one. I even questioned whether there was filial love or if I was just seen as another subordinate.

Additionally, I must say that I never got to know my mother; she died when I was just a couple of months old. As far as I know, there was a landslide during the rainy season that carried a large amount of soil and trees over a wide area of the forest beneath the mountain. My mother managed to save me at the cost of her life. That event further embittered the already lonely life of a guardian like Raobeon.

When traveling to the north of the Dawn Forest with the other volunteers, we passed by where she lay. I had never returned to that part of the forest since my childhood; my protectorate is very far from there, and to be frank, I never had the intention of visiting that place. Raobeon never spoke about it; what I knew was thanks to the occasional conversations he had with my mother's sister, if there was time during the new moon gathering.

Thanks to this, I realized that the place was not abandoned as I had always believed. My father had created a garden full of small flowers called Belén, my mother's favorites according to her younger sister.

We carefully passed through that place following Raobeon, trying not to step on them. Aram, one of the oldest guardians, whispered to me, "Your father comes here often; I've even heard him talking about you to your mother."

It was a bit hard for me to believe because my father was not the sentimental type, but seeing that garden made me reconsider things.

The rest of the journey was uneventful and mostly silent.

When we reached the territory of one of the missing guardians, we realized we were being watched; some foxes were hiding among the bushes. It was audacious of them to stroll around as if nothing, when this forest had been watched over by our people since before any of them or us existed.

As we walked among the trees, passing by bushes and ferns, we noticed from a distance that they were waiting for us. A huge number of cardobians; about three dozen wolves and around twenty pumas, as well as several foxes, stood in front of us. The strangest thing was that none of them approached to attack. A messenger pigeon that had arrived from the center of the continent had already warned us about their strange behavior.

They had never shown any kind of logic or strategy, and there was no way to reason with them.

These creatures, despite being aggressive, were quite simple: if they were sleepy, they slept; if they were thirsty, they drank; and if they were hungry, they hunted; that easy. But at that moment, we realized something had changed.

Finally, that eagle that had seemed like a ghost presented itself to us.

Perched on the trunk of a fallen tree was that majestic creature, with feathers the color of autumn leaves, claws longer than any puma's, a wingspan that could lift any of those wolves at its feet into the air, and a beak as sharp as obsidian.