Elewýs slipped out from the undergrowth into the clearing. The soldiers all turned to look at her. One of the blond women slipped off a log and giggled. She looked drunk. Mésia helped her up.

The youngest man slid from the yellow mist all covered with soot, collecting a ball of light in his hand. He had short blond hair, black leather boots with brass buttons, and a staff like Fustrendel.

“Hello,” he said, a big smile on his face.

Elewýs wilted. Did I make the wrong choice? How can they laugh and joke amid this wasteland.

“Come and have a seat,” said the woman who’d approached her first.

Clæfre, that was it.

Clæfre shuffled over and sat next to the gift man, she’d forgotten his name already. The bald man in heavy-plate assessed her from across the circle.

“Here, check this out.” Clæfre pressed something small and hard into Elewýs’s hand. A yellow gem.

“Where did you find this?” said Elewýs.

“On the ground. There’s loads of them, see.” Clæfre rummaged through the grass and leaves, then placed another yellow gem in her hand. The young Drýmann held up a third.

“Damn,” he said. “I thought I’d found something special. There’s a whole pile of them back in your village.”

Elewýs stared at stones in her hand.

Fustrendel. Elewys began to cry.

“Hey now,” said Clæfre. “Money’s not that great.”

“You shouldn’t play with these,” said Elewýs.

“But, magic gems,” said the drunk one.

Elewýs took a deep breath, it was now or never, “They’re not gems, they’re Feorhhord Gimcynn, pieces of an elder’s heart.”

The Drýmann put his yellow stone down on the rock before him, “What do you mean?” he said.

“The people who lived here, the Galdorcwide, had thirteen elders. Until three months ago I thought they were eccentric old men who led the village. Fustrendel, one of the kinder ones who helped the people from Éaggemeare, told me a little about their history.

“He showed me something he called the Cwylla and thirteen obelisks made from this yellow stone, Feorhhord Gimcynn. Fustrendel said they placed their hearts in the stone and the stone in their chests and that way they could control the Cwylla, to stop it from causing too much harm.”

“Do you mean metaphorically?” said Clæfre.

“No, their real hearts,” said Elewýs.

“That explains the grease,” said the tallest soldier. There was a flurry of movement as everyone rushed to wipe their hands on the grass.

So that’s what it takes for them to look serious.

“What is a Cwylla, Miss Elewýs?” said the bald man. He was the only one who was still composed. It was intimidating. Silly, when she was three foot taller.

Before she could answer, the Drýmann said, “A wellspring of magic.”

“What’s that?” said Clæfre.

“It’s exactly what it sounds like. Think of magic like water. It’s in the air and the earth. Using it changes it from one form to another, or dissipates it to the point you can’t use it, creating the spell in the process. Like water though, some places have more of it than others. A wellspring is where magic flows from the ground like water. It is the rarest and most unpredictable of sources.”

“And the Gimcynn thingies?” said Péton.

“An artificial stone made by condensing magic. It’s the same stuff as the ring around my finger. I feel a little stupid for not noticing it earlier. It’s incredibly hard to do as it normally requires extracting a vast amount of magic from the air. I didn’t think of it because there’s so much of it lying about it seemed impossible. If there’s a wellspring here though, it all makes sense. We really need to leave.”

“Shouldn’t we do something about it?” said Clæfre. “Isn’t that the whole point of coming here?”

“Like what?” said the Drýmann. “How do you expect us to stop the Cwylla from flowing? You can’t just cap it with a boulder. The elders Elewýs mentioned must have done something amazing here. It’s completely beyond me and out of our control. Remember yesterday with the frozen flames? The magic is much denser here. I could do nothing and we could still be swamped by, well, anything.”

“We have to walk back with more problems than we started with? Damn!” said Clæfre.

“There’s nothing left to do here, we should go.”

“I trust your judgement, but is there really nothing we can do here?” said the bald man. “I dislike the idea of returning empty handed.”

Elewýs was surprised when the bald man looked at her.

“Miss Elewýs, what are you planning to do? I find it hard to imagine you approached us to tell a story.”

There were plenty of smiles, some friendly, some encouraging.

These seem like nice people. I need time to decide what to do.

“I will accompany you to the edge of the forest. I don’t know what I will do next.”

The bald man held out his hand, “I’m Sir Thorold Wulfslæd, it will be a pleasure to have you with us.”

Ah, he was a knight!

Elewýs tried not to crush him as she shook his hand, she wasn’t sure how strong she’d become.

“The others can introduce themselves as we travel,” said Sir Wulfslæd.

Elewýs nodded.

“Can you bring yourself to talk about what happened here?” said Sir Wulfslæd.

“I don’t know,” said Elewýs.

“We have a couple of days. I must admit, everything about you intrigues me,” said Sir Wulfslæd. “If you don’t wish to tell me I won’t press the matter, but I can’t promise you won’t be plagued by numerous questions of the terminally curious, especially by my son, Letholdus. He looks most enamoured, although I cannot tell if it is scholarly pursuit or your beauty that has him almost skipping. He looks at the world a little differently to the rest of us.”

“He’s a Drýmann, isn’t he?”

Sir Wulfslæd almost looked surprised, “He’s getting there. How did you know?”

“I guess I look at the world a little differently too.”

“I see.” The knight paused, “Would you like a little time before we leave.”

“I don’t have any family here,” said Elewýs, narrowly avoiding a glance at her mother.

Do I sound bitter or tired? It is hard to tell. My life has been uprooted so many times it is difficult to care what happens to me anymore.