Sparrowheart

5

The boy sat on a tree stump outside of the tent that was emanating a soft, golden light, prodding the ground with a stick. He focused on a single blade of grass, not daring to look up at the multitude of stars above him: a vast array of twinkling lights that formed all of the constellations his master had taught him to recognize so well. The scent of the summer evening was intoxicating, but he barely noticed. He did not want to think about his master, but he knew he soon must recount his vision to the council who waited inside. This very moment, he knew they were deliberating about how to proceed in light of the old man's death. He couldn't help but imagine the body lying in the grass somewhere far away in the distant land where he had met his demise, the lifeless eyes gleaming with the same starlight that loomed above him now. How could this be? It seemed as if he had wandered into a nightmare from which he could not awaken, a dark and terrible fantasy that upended all normalcy. But this was no dream. He had never really thought about what life would be like without Sparrow and had assumed that whatever mysterious power that kept him alive for this long would continue to preserve him for all eternity. Somehow, he knew that couldn't be true, but the old man was such a fixture in his life that existence without him felt wrong. He thought of all the things he still had yet to learn, of all the accomplishments he could now never share with his mentor. It had always seemed as if there was no end to the wisdom the old man was ready to dispense at the drop of a hat. Who else could possibly guide him through this troubling time but the very man whose death now caused it? No one understood the boy as well as his master, there was no one else who trusted him in the same way. He wanted to sit there forever on this stump, through the passing of seasons, and decay like a dying plant. He didn't know who his father was or where he came from, only that Sparrow had found him amongst the smoldering rubble of a once great city during one of his many travels fifteen years ago. The village had always felt like home, but now, it was a hostile place full of outsiders. He'd never really had a desire to leave, but now he contemplated fleeing into the night in search of a family he knew was either dead or most likely would not accept him for what he was. He felt angry at the old man for being left to deal with the unknown difficulties of life alone, a fact that made him quite ashamed. He was temporarily shaken out of his gloom by the sound of raised voices as Elwyn strode out of the tent in a determined stride, a large stack of what looked like manuscripts under one arm.

"What use am I to them?" he muttered before noticing the boy. He stopped abruptly. "Well boy, they want to hear it straight from you now. They care not for my counsel. I wouldn't bother trying to convince them of anything, they seem to have already made up their minds on the matter. How that lumbering bafoon Conouy is on the council, to say nothing of being considered for the new village leader is beyond me." Elwyn shook his head and sighed. "I'm sorry. I know it is painful for you. Don't pay me any mind, I am but a squaking idiot." The boy raised his head and looked at the older man.

"I don't think you're an idiot" he said."You're the brightest person in the village, even--" he stopped short, his voice cracking with grief involuntarily. "Even Master Sparrow said so." Elwyn managed a half smile and put a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Thank you, but in time you'll come to see that isn't so, or else I would be on the counsel. You may come to surpass me very soon yourself." Elwyn patted him and began to walk away toward the village square.

"Where are you going?" the boy asked.

"For a drink, young master. You shouldn't keep them waiting."

He watched Elwyn walk away until he was obscured in the shadows then turned his gaze back to the blade of grass he had been focusing on earlier. He tossed the stick, then rose to his feet and walked into the tent.

The interior was much different than the previous day. In place of the sitting blankets, bustling atmosphere, and merriment of the usual dinner feasts, seven ornate wooden chairs with tall backs were arranged in a line against the far end with a smaller chair placed in front of the others, its back facing him. A row of fourteen torches, seven on each side, formed a pathway leading up to the council members seated on the chairs. They cast a warm glow on the forrest-green walls and royal blue ceiling of the regal looking tent. There was Conouy, Eytama, Monwyn, (the sister of Elwyn), and and four empty chairs representing those who had passed on. One of them was where Sparrow had once sat, he knew . The boy hesitated a moment before approaching. He had never been invited to council meetings before and had only spoken to Monwyn a handful of times. She was beautiful, strong, and held the appearance of wisdom in her soft gray eyes that only age could bring; yet she retained a youthful appearance despite her short and wavy silver hair. She wore an elegant tunic of indigo and gold. Eytama looked bored, as usual, slumping in his brown, tattered robes. Conouy looked intimidating as ever, holding his axe-bladed staff, wearing tan and blue robes with a thick leather sash around his waist. His eyes piercing, judgmental. When the boy did not proceed further in, he spoke to him.