The idle hand that clutched a twirl of freshly picked hawthorn rocked to and fro with the breeze of pace. The season of the mischievous fae was drawing near and it was the cunning man’s duty to ward the venerable fauna of the woods from their celebrations.

With every bead of sweat that dribbled from his tanned brow and with every ache he felt in his legs as each step went by, the small grin on his face would grow the tiniest bit tight in retaliation. He rubbed the airs on his arms against the sweat, as if the minute bristles were enough to be rid of them for good.

He wondered, with the cunning his title insinuated that he possessed, about how many of his ilk would kill for their own sanctuary of acres and acres of tamed roots, leaves, berries, and the lackadaisical creatures that dwelled within. The cunning man was sure that many had already done so many of times. Perhaps he felt slightly ostracised from the battles, there were few predators or vagabonds to test his affinity of the earth elements upon in his home.

While he was lost himself in thought as he wandered his land, the visage of a man presented itself. A hunched figure sat atop a mound of moss where once a log most probably laid. The sight of a tattered yellow surcoat made itself known as the cunning man drew closer through the bracken of his domain.

The cunning man meditated on how long it had been since he met a creature that walked on two feet like himself; a year? A decade? Time mattered little when knowledge of the elements prolonged youth. The man was clearly dressed in the garb of war, the sigil of a lion could be made out on his surcoat, as well as the shine of armoured plate on his arms and legs.

A sigh escaped his lips, his duty as one of the cunning folks prevented him from leaving the man be. “You lost fella?” The cunning man asked.

The lost man jumped, clearly, he was not expecting to meet another fellow in the forest. “Who are you?” He challenged, his hand reaching for a sword at his side that was no longer there.

“Me? The name’s Bryce, I think,” He replied. “Or maybe it wa’ Cliff...” He then questioned himself. “Lysander sounds ‘bout right as well... Canute? Eh, just call me Peter.” He shrugged.

“Never met a bloke who has forgot his own name, though I have also never met a man that wears such a large pointy hat, or stinks so foul of herbs before.”

Peter sniffed his armpits, “It’s a good hat isn’t it?” He grinned. “Didn’t realise I stunk to be honest, though guess the animals wunt tell me would they, ‘n’ everyone knows elves lie anyway, the whimsical bastards. What’s your name anyway stranger?”

“Edwin, Edwin the third.” He replied

Peter walked forward and sat himself upon a comfortable-looking rock in front of Edwin, “What brings you here, Edwin the third?”

Edwin paused, “Sorry but I would rather not talk about it.”

“Ah, one of those stories is it? I won’t pry. You ‘ungry?”

“Not particularly, why do you ask?”

“Just wonderin’, man in your condition don’t typically fancy a bite, they don’t, but me mam always told me to be polite – probably.”

“I am sorry to intrude, Peter, but why are you here in this forest?”

“My-my, ya are a polite one isn’t ya, especially for someone so young. It’s a fair question to be honest. Ya believe in magic, Edwin?”

“Magic, the Devil’s witchcraft?” Edwin gulped.

“Witchcraft?” He mimicked. “Suppose that’s a term for it. The Devil part however I might protest, never had any dealings with any devils and I’ve bin doing this a long time, I think.”

“So, you are trying to tell me you are a wielder of magic, is that it?” The armoured man stammered.

“I suppose I am, Edwin, suppose I am. Got a problem with that?”

“I am not sure... Just a day ago I would have struck down from where you sat for associating with such obvious blasphemy, yet now I can’t seem to bring myself to care all that much. Perhaps I am too tired to care.”

“Struck me down you would?” Peter smirked, “curious how you would ‘av done it without a sword. Thump me on the ‘ead until my ears ‘n’ eyeballs start leaking aye?”

Edwin chuckled, “I suppose it would have been a tad awkward.”

“Aye it would... Got any family, Edwin?”

“Of course, why do you ask?”

“Just wonderin’, Brother? Sister?”

“No sister, just three brothers.”

“Nice brothers, treat you right?”

“Adequate would be the term I suppose, neither abusive nor particularly kind.”

“I guessin’ you’re the youngest?”

“You guess right, youngest by seven cycles.”

“Earl? Baron? Esquire?”

“Is it that obvious I am of nobility?” Edwin smiled thinly. “Count actually, well my father is.”

“Lot to prove, fourth son of a Earl – lot to prove.”

“I suppose so, though even the youngest son of a Earl can still obtain a good job and live luxurious life.”

“Aye, I suppose, did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Good job, luxurious life?”

“I suppose.”

“Suppose huh, supposed. Forced to fight were ya, kingdom in great peril, thousands dead? Don’t know much of dealings outside these woods?”

Edwin paused, “Not particularly.”

“Lands raided by barbarians? Your people raped, slaughtered, sold into slavery, no choice but to defend them?”

“No,” he grimaced, “nothing like that.”

“Fields plagued by pestilence then, empty bellies galore. No choice but to expand your territory for resources? Can’t have the workers ‘n’ the children dying, now can we?”

“No...”

The shape of Peter’s left brow moved up ever so slightly, "then what, Edwin, what was the catalyst for your glorious skirmish?”

Edwin let out a small sigh, “My father. He had a disagreement with a nearby baron, wanted to put him in his place.”

“I see, I see. Father forced you to fight for his honour did he, no choice in the matter?”

Edwin looked down at the symbol of a proud lion’s face on his attire, almost hidden beneath the stale mud and ichor of lesser men, “I volunteered.”

“Volunteered,” Peter echoed.

“I told him that I would restore his honour, that I would be his champion in battle. Thought I would make him proud.”

“Did you?”

Edwin snickered mockingly, “I doubt it.”

“Why not, dint slay many of your dad’s enemies? Dint rally your troops and lead the charge? Dint find 'n' behead the rival general, parade his skull around like a trophy?”

“I led the charge; suppose I did. I made a long speech about valour, the glory of battle, and the holiness of our mission. I galloped towards the enemy before any of my men, first I was, with the tip of my sword pointed straight at the enemy. Looking back, I do not think my words nor my actions really had an effect on my men, basically I stroking my family’s jewels looking back. Poor sods most likely wanted nothing to do with the affair.”

“Probably dint” Peter agreed, “probably had a wife ‘n’ kids in their noggins the entire time. Though, awfully brave thing to do, not many men can charge a foe straight on, they don’t.”

“I closed my eyes,” Edwin chuckled.

“Managed to at least kill a man dint ya, just one, for your dad?”

Edwin gulped, any sign of a previous good humour disappeared so quick, even Peter doubted its existed “Yes...”

“Plunged your finely crafted sword in ‘im, a blade worth more than five of your father’s soldiers. Watched the fellow choke on his own blood, like a sweet barrel of wine shaken and then popped open with a puncture to its side; leaking yet the inside somehow grows from the leaking? Watched while his eyes begged for life, felt the final break on your soft long fingers?”

“Yes”

“Scary business that, scary business. First time killing a man?”

“Yes.”

“Not very pleasant is it.”

“No, it is not very pleasant at all.”

“Shocking experience too, especially when hundreds of people are doing the exact same thing around. The sounds; the smells; the tastes.” Edwin did not respond. “Scary experience that, enough to make a man run from it, run from it all.”

A long silence drew out in the forest air, almost suffocating the lost noble “Yes,” Edwin finally replied.

“You ran.”

“I did.”

“Heard the sounds of your men dying grow more ‘n’ more distant.”

Edwin only grunted in response.

“Ran ‘til your legs could move no longer, yet ran still cause your mind demanded it.”

“Yes.”

“Only stopped when ya ended up in a woods so thick with trees and plants nothing could ever possibly find you. Sat on the first thing you could find, dint even know if it was study or not for your encumbered rump; dint care.”

Once again, Edwin failed to respond to Peter.

“Funny thing about fighting, makes some senses ever so sharp ‘n’ others duller than a sheep's personality. Lotta folk don’t notice if they stub their toe when in a glorious sprint, or the itching if they fall on a pile of fire-ants. Some folk, Edwin, don’t even notice a broken limb, or a stab wound, not even a puncture to the side. They only feel war.”

Another long hush hung in the air, only occasionally interrupted by the free winds and the random chirpings of birds. “Any regrets?” Peter asked, breaking the silence.

“More than I can count I fear, far too many.” Edwin replied.

“Name one for me please, if you don’t mind?”

“Alright, I suppose...” Edwin took in a deep breath and pursed his lips in thought, “I wish I had not married the woman my father chose for me. I wish that maiden that sold breads in the market was not a simple bread maker. I wish that those rosy cheeks of hers would be mirrored on my own children’s cheeks someday.”

“It’s funny how many people use the word wish when they talk of regrets.”

“Oh yeah? Never noticed it myself. I do not suppose that magic of yours can grant wishes, Peter?”

“Depends on the wish, though yours seem to all be for the past, can’t change the past I’m afraid.

Edwin smiled, “Suppose that makes sense, it was too much to ask.”

“If you wanted to see a twig become a tree in a blink, or gaze upon a ball of dancing flames, or watch water fly as if it had decided to rival the sparrows in their haste, then I’m your man.”

“No-no, that is quite alright thank you. A younger me would have tried to kill you for the demonstration, a much younger me would have jumped for joy at the show, now all I desire is to bask in the mundane for just a while longer.”

“Need a bit longer do we?”

“Please, I am not quite ready yet.”

Peter returned the smile Edwin had been showing him, “that’s fine, I’m in no rush.”

A time passed with the two chatting about small things, mundane things. Edwin spoke of his childhood, the time he tried to impress a girl and fell off a pony, his relationship with his mother. Peter would also add to the conversation by telling Edwin about the wonders of magic and his forest, he even reminisced about his own past as best as he could. When they did not speak to one another, they would simply just enjoy the sounds and smells that nature brought them.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

“Are you sure, Edwin? There is still no rush”

“No-no, I should not delay it any longer, it will only make it more difficult.”

Peter nodded, “fair enough, anything you wanna say?”

“Suppose I do. Suppose there is so much to say I would never stop.”

“How about a nice tidy sentence for me then? Something an old croon could stitch into a pillow.”

Edwin nodded, “I’ll try... Be true to yourself and always ask yourself why you are doing what you're doing.”

“That’s it?” Peter asked incredulously. “I can see why your men weren’t all that inspired by that heroic speech of yours.”

“Piss off you, poncy pellar!” Edwin yelled, although his eyes betrayed the false anger in his tone. Warm sleepy eyes that spoke of affection.

Peter laughed, “Was a bit rude of me wasn’t it.”

The two shared a brief joy together once more, a few seconds of reprieve before the conversation had to continue. “What’s next for me?” Edwin asked.

“Can’t tell ya I’m afraid. Just know that there’s no such thing as a complete end, Edwin, no such thing there isn’t.”

Edwin smirked, “Ominous aye, now you sound like a true wise-man.”

“Seems we’re getting a bit cheeky, now aren’t we?” Peter smirked.

Edwin giggled, a loud child-like noise full of spit that told the world that he did not care about its manners no longer, “Suppose I am. Too bad I didn’t show my dad any cheek.”

“Aye, suppose we’d not have met if you did.”

“Suppose so, not sure if that’s a good thing or not.”

“Neither am I to be honest.”

“Farewell, Peter.” Edwin suddenly. He stretched his arm out in front of him, his elegant fingers held loose, ready for embrace.

“It was nice meeting ya, Edwin.” Peter clasped the hand in front of him and shook with the strength of an equal.

In that moment the wind let out one only final howl as it whirled past the two, its strength great enough to bend the trees, yet never enough to break them.

Then there was nothing.

The cunning man gripped his knees tightly and pushed himself up from the rock he sat. The hawthorn held tightly in hand crumbled to the ground, long forgotten. He took one final fleeting glance at the moss-covered log in front of him and turned around on his heels. Once again, he ventured back towards the density of his domain. “Such few visitors do I get in my home, it’s a shame none of them can ever stay for supper,” the cunning man sighed.