Ewan stood at the edge of the woods where saplings braved the fringes away from their more established elders. The oaks and yew stretched lazy limbs in the cold breeze, releasing colorful leaves in a dance. His hands clasped behind him, he looked upon the small space marked by a single stone. Engraved upon it were the symbols of his parents? households, their history in simple decorations along the edges and their names at the bottom. It was all so precise and clean.
He did not remember their lives that way. Of all things, he had made their lives the least precise it could be. The youth spent in trouble causing misery in his wake. His mother had stood fast, calm when she needed ? though stern when that was required, too. No one mentioned that when they came to the Remembrance.
It had been a brief, one day affair set in the back garden of the house he had always known as home, and now belonged to Gaerwyn, Lenika, and their family. The Baroness and her family had made their call of respect early on so as not to disrupt the occasion. Some people of town never missed an opportunity to gawk upon the noble family, nor have an excuse to gossip about Ewan?s close ties to them.
Now it was just Ewan and the quiet plot of land, not marked in any way but that one stone. His ancestors scattered about the country, some even further in of this very wood. Their own stones faded with time so that markings barely whispered of those that had once passed. Still, it was not their way. One year was all that traditions of The Twelve sustained. But for the grand caverns of the nobility meant as records of history, most faded away ? like the stones ? over time.
Ewan felt keenly aware of where he stood in that flow of time. Gaerwyn was the last of his kin, and now the carrying of the family fell to him. The weight of it was not as heavy as he always thought it would be. He was but a man as so many other men. It was but one element of him to be the son of Corin and the father of Avery and Kellan. It was but one element of him to be the husband of Storm or the friend of Changlings and nobility. It was but one element of him to be the assassin. Only his Mistress Death would claim all those elements in the end and help him cross to the Meadowlands as those before him had.
With a bow to the marker and a silent vow to uphold the honorable roles they modeled for him, he turned and strode from the edge of the wood, leaving the stone to its fate.
He did not remember their lives that way. Of all things, he had made their lives the least precise it could be. The youth spent in trouble causing misery in his wake. His mother had stood fast, calm when she needed ? though stern when that was required, too. No one mentioned that when they came to the Remembrance.
It had been a brief, one day affair set in the back garden of the house he had always known as home, and now belonged to Gaerwyn, Lenika, and their family. The Baroness and her family had made their call of respect early on so as not to disrupt the occasion. Some people of town never missed an opportunity to gawk upon the noble family, nor have an excuse to gossip about Ewan?s close ties to them.
Now it was just Ewan and the quiet plot of land, not marked in any way but that one stone. His ancestors scattered about the country, some even further in of this very wood. Their own stones faded with time so that markings barely whispered of those that had once passed. Still, it was not their way. One year was all that traditions of The Twelve sustained. But for the grand caverns of the nobility meant as records of history, most faded away ? like the stones ? over time.
Ewan felt keenly aware of where he stood in that flow of time. Gaerwyn was the last of his kin, and now the carrying of the family fell to him. The weight of it was not as heavy as he always thought it would be. He was but a man as so many other men. It was but one element of him to be the son of Corin and the father of Avery and Kellan. It was but one element of him to be the husband of Storm or the friend of Changlings and nobility. It was but one element of him to be the assassin. Only his Mistress Death would claim all those elements in the end and help him cross to the Meadowlands as those before him had.
With a bow to the marker and a silent vow to uphold the honorable roles they modeled for him, he turned and strode from the edge of the wood, leaving the stone to its fate.