Deash12
Coffee Enthusiast
The wind blew from the west, disturbing the tall blades of grass. Their tips scraped
together and the field was filled with quiet rustles. Dayter sat silently, his legs crossed. There stood before him was a lone, dead oak tree. Its bark long since torn away, the wood now a sickly grey. The leafless branches spiraled upwards and outwards, thinning out into a tangled mess as it reached its point. Dayter lifted his hand to his neck and dug beneath his clothing, retrieving a long silver chain. Attached to the end of the chain is a crude and worn oak leaf, he looked between the tree and his pendant several times. Clutching the leaf, Dayter tore the chain from his neck and let it lie in his palm. There he stared at it some more. He exhaled a steady breath and closed his eyes, clutching the chain to his chest.
Dayter let his memories come slowly. His youth a distant memory, and the entirety of his life seeming much the same. His body and mind were older now, scarred and tainted by the horrors of war and hardship, yet also touched with the gentle caresses of love and kindness. He took another breath. He was no longer a Ranger, nor a Crown Ranger, not a father or a husband, he is not even sure he is himself. He mused that he no longer had his home, or his tree in Tauredal, or anything that he once had. Even the ground he sat on was foreign to him. They were not any of the lands he inhabited in the past. The only thing that belonged to him now was his name. Dayter. He thought to himself. He wondered if anyone still remembered it. If they did, it was sitting deep in the recesses of their minds, or in some old and tattered history book that managed to survive an Exodus or two. But in this moment, he did not care if it was, or that if it sat somewhere in somebody’s mind. Dayter. He thought again. Dayter’s time has passed. He was no longer relevant, and he accepted this. He comforted himself in the fact that he’s done everything he already could for Altera. However, there was a hole, one deep inside his heart that seeded doubt and insecurity. Insecurity in his actions, doubting that he did all that he could. Fearing that he still could do more. He pushed the feeling down further, and took another breath.
Dayter looked to the tree in front of him and saw himself. Old and no longer of any use to anyone. He stood, wincing as he placed his free hand on his bandaged side. The Gryphon cracked his ribs for the nth time and left him worse for wear. He stepped closer to the tree and placed a hand on it. He ran his rough fingers over the even rougher exterior of the tree, following its cracks and ridges. With a quick motion, he hung and tied the chain to a low branch. He touched the oak leaf one last time, and turned away, limping to the encampment in the distance.
The wind blew again and the pendant swung gently. The tree now had one more leaf, one borne of metal just as cold and dead as itself. One that will live with the tree until they are both reduced into the Earth they came from.
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