[WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

[LCP]

"Well done for a noble's son," he said sincerely. "You're not half the coward I thought you were."

Those villagers who could tear their eyes away from the smouldering remnants looked at Pieter with a wary silence. Even living under a family like the Verlorens, you didn’t speak like that to the aristocracy. Not if you wanted a peaceful life.

Ricard gave Pieter a hard stare. “You ought to be more careful, Hagen,” he said. “If you were a gentleman, I might call you out for that.”

Leopold looked like he might have something scathing to say, but he was still pale and trembling – words failed him. From nearer the tree, there came a dull thok of metal on wood. Ithelus was hacking furiously at the dead thing’s trunk, ashen bark splintering and oozing grey water where the axe’s head struck.

Ricard looked sideways at Pieter, then back at the elf: Ithelus did not stop chopping. Keeping an awkward silence, the villagers began to walk slowly back up the slope towards the charred thing on the mound. They surveyed its smoking remains as if they still could hardly believe what had happened, the repetitive thok, thok of Ithelus’ axe the only sound in the stillness.

“Told you,” said Suster, glumly. There was no reply – only the croaking of the crows in the surrounding forest, and the rustling of the treetops in the wet wind.

One of the villagers began to mutter something under his breath - an old rhyme, something the village children might have sung. He only spoke it, his eyes still on the blackened tree.
“Elm he do grieve,
Oak he do hate,
But willow goes walkin’
If you stays out late."

He spoke with the incredulous quiet of someone who had seen their mother's bedside stories come to life. Somewhere in the forest, wood creaked against wood, making head turn – but it was just the wind.