Lord of Nature

'Tap… tap, tap…'

A small reddish-brown bird perched in the branches above Cyrus's head, pecking at a bright blue beetle caught between its talons. There was a small crack as it pried the shell free with it's knife-like beak, and dug into the meat. Within seconds, it had finished it's meal, and discarded of the empty shell, before hopping down to the end of the branch. 

For a moment, it sat there, its beady eyes staring out at the vast sea before them. Then, it hopped off the branch, and spiraled towards the ground, unfolding its four thin wings to shoot back up into the sky, it's long red tail feathers resembling flames in the wind.

Cyrus watched the bird fly away, his keen emerald eyes peering out from beneath a curtain of amber curls. It flew higher and higher, drawing ever closer to the dark canopy of storm clouds overhead, where it finally joined a flock of flametail sparrows, flitting beneath the cloud rolls like fish in the sea. He counted fifteen in total, before they disappeared into the nearby forest.

'Hmm. One less than yesterday,' Cyrus thought. Sighing, he pushed off the knotted trunk of the old elm, and climbed to his feet. The sand crunched beneath his tattered boots as he made his way down the sandy shore, back to the bustling village of Withro.

Cobblestone houses lined the dirt street, with puffs of smoke rising from their chimneys. A gust of wind swept down the street, rattling the window shutters, while the calls of men and women rang through the air. 

Nearby, a group of boys raced past, darting around a creaking wagon, before dashing towards the open pastures at the end of the street. Their shouts of glee and laughter rang louder than any mothers warning, following them all the way to the edge of the winding river.

A young boy with light brown hair ran at the front of the group, dodging the others as he ducked between the shrubs. He had a wide grin as he leapt out, over the river, and splashed down, disappearing beneath the water. The boys quieted until a moment later, he reappeared, scrambling out onto the opposite bank. 

Cyrus chuckled until he noticed a few of the villagers watching him with wary gazes from the cover of their porches. Lowering his head, he hurried down the street towards an open walled hut, with a thick plume of smoke rising from the roof. 

The clang of steel striking steel rang from the building, accompanied by a heavy heat, which filled the air. A middle aged man stood inside, sweat glistening off his brow as he brought a heavy hammer down on a bright orange horseshoe. 

"Excuse me… Are you perhaps Berrodin?" Cyrus asked. 

The blacksmith glanced up as he dunked the metal into a barrel of water. A puff of steam rose with a hiss, clouding the air. As it cleared, the man squinted his eyes with a furrowed brow. "I am. Who's asking?"

"My name's Cyrus," Cyrus said. He stepped around a crate of similar horseshoes, and approached the forge. "I heard you were planning on traveling to the nearby kingdom soon, and I was hoping to join you."

"You're the young man they found down the shore, aren't you? The one who lost his memories, right?" Berrodin asked. He tossed the still steaming horseshoe into the crate, and wiped his brow. "Why do you want to travel to Galeden?"

"I thought I might find someone there who knows me," Cyrus said, shrugging. "It's already been a week and a half since I've arrived here, and so far the only thing I know about myself is my name. Since it doesn't seem like I'll remember anything else here, I thought I'd try elsewhere."

Berrodin scratched the grey stubble growing along his chin. "Makes sense to me. I'm willing to take you, but for a price."

Cyrus frowned, and lifted his cloak, revealing his tattered clothes and worn boots beneath. "I'm afraid I don't have any coin, as you can see. My only valuable possession is this old pendant, but I doubt it's worth much."

He retrieved a bronze pendant from around his neck, embellished by a great tree, whose roots and branches wrapped around the edges. Flipping it over, he ran his thumb over the strange inscription carved on the back. 

'May the Arbor Sanctum never fall…'

When he had asked around about such a place, no one claimed to have ever heard of it. Nor could anyone but him read the foreign root like words, twisted and knotted together. 

Cyrus bit his lip. "I'd prefer not to part with it, if possible."

Berrodin waved his calloused hand. "I wouldn't think of taking it anyway. Instead, how about lending me a hand. I still need to load my wares, but I've been lagging behind. Interested?"

"A bit of work seems like a fair trade to me," Cyrus said. 

"Glad to hear it," Berrodin said. He swung his hammer towards a stack of crates filled with iron nails, fittings, horseshoes, and rods. "Those all need to go in the wagon outback. Let me know when you finish, and I'll show you what needs to be done next."

Cyrus grabbed the first crate from the top, his muscles straining from the weight, and lack of a decent meal recently. "Leave it to me."

As such, Cyrus spent the next few hours lugging the crates around the hut, to a rickety old wagon nestled behind it. The work tired him, but he kept at it until he finished, and moved on to the next chore. By the time the day came close to an end, he barely had the strength to lift his arms, and his legs wobbled with each step. 

"You've done better than I expected," Berrodin said, examining the wagon. He gestured at the lines holding it down. "Those could be a bit tighter, but we can worry about that tomorrow."

Cyrus slumped against the side of the hut. "Thanks. I suppose I'll see you in the morning then."

"Or we could go to the tavern, and have supper. I like to have a decent meal before heading to the kingdom," Berrodin said. He grinned. "It'll be on me. As a bonus for your hard work."

"A warm meal sounds better than scavenging for berries, and asking for handouts," Cyrus said. 

"I'm glad you agree," Berrodin said, rubbing his palms. "I'll meet you there. I still need to wash up."

…

Cyrus pushed through the tavern's door, and was met by the mouth-watering aroma of beef and fresh loaves. Inside, the tables were packed as the villagers piled in, clamoring over one another for food and drink. 

'The food must be good if it's this busy,' Cyrus thought. He stepped to the side as a group of men came barging through the door. A few muttered apologies as they swept past, before making their way to the crackling fireplace. 

After scanning the busy room, Cyrus made his way to the sleek counter along the far back wall. A lean man stood behind it, wiping down a puddle of spilled mead. He glanced up with a smile, but it faded as he eyed Cyrus. 

"I'm afraid we don't give out free food here. You're welcome to sit by the fire, and warm yourself, but if you cause any trouble I'll have to ask you to leave," The bartender said. He glanced over Cyrus's shoulder as Berrodin approached and leaned against the counter. 

"Don't worry, Morlen. He's with me," Berrodin said. He glanced around the room, then gestured towards a booth in the corner, beneath a circle glass window. "I'll take two mugs of mead, and some food for the both of us. We'll be sitting over there."

Morlen arched his brow, then nodded. "Very well. I'll have Gaila bring it out to you. Just let her know if you need anything else."