Kreswen, a handsome but balding man, watched his child with delight. At seven years of age, the slender blond boy had already learned to appreciate the beauty of the deep forest. It had become like a home for them, for they spent many days there together, whenever Kreswen had time away from the pressures and demands of his work at the mind training center. Below them, Greenbrook slowly wound its way down toward Tizra. He and Bracken had fished for hours, catching gleaming fish and wogs that swam there. The sun winked through the high trees as they walked toward the glen. The grass played about their ankles, tickling their bare legs. Already it had begun to Yellow with the coming of summer. Somehow, though, the smell of the deep forest was always the same. The tall trees seemed to filter the air and add their pleasant and fragrant blessing to the atmosphere of the shade beneath them. He knew that the child sensed this too. He was different than the other youngsters that lived in Tizra. There was a sensitivity about him that the others lacked. At times Kreswen wondered from where it could have come. Gentleness was often thought of as weakness, and neither he or his wife, Myrus, had ever been considered soft. They came from hardy stock. Myrus, a petite and comely woman, was reared in the Yadren Mountains,. She had developed that strong durable disposition that comes from tending the herds and fighting hunger in the bitter deep-winters of the Fayliss range. This though, had not changed her bubbly personality, a character trait that seemed to match her rosy face. Kreswen had not had an easy childhood either. He had grown up in the rugged atmosphere of the Midlands, working in the Milch farms of his homeland. He could still remember the hungry winters of the Greatfall when money and food had grown short and the painful reality of self-preservation had forced its way into his consciousness. Kreswen was awakened from his thoughts by the approach of a small swaim. It had quietly crept from behind a tree and was now watching them with steadied attention. Its soft fur glistened where spots of sunlight left a Patchwork on its back. Bright eyes gleamed from either side of its short black nose, and its long whiskers moved slowly as it looked for some sign of welcome from them. Kreswen watched his son as he responded with delight to the animal. These were the friendliest creatures of the woods and many times appeared in front of them fearlessly, in hopes of being fed a morsel. From the leather sack at his side, Kreswen broke off a bit of their lunch. Kneeling down, he handed it to his son. Taking the piece of food from his father, Bracken slowly extended it toward the swaim. Immediately, the animal responded by creeping closer and relaxing. Soon its tiny hands had reached up and gingerly removed the food from the child's grasp. It quickly retreated a few paces and began to devour its prize. "Why do not all the creatures of the forest become our friends, Father?" Bracken questioned. Kreswen looked down into the bright blue eyes of his son. So many questions to ask, so many to answer. He hesitated for a moment and then spoke. "Fear has captured them, my son." "But where did fear come from, Father?" questioned the child. "The animals became afraid because long ago the Night Ruler closed his trap upon them." Bracken's eyes filled with wonder. "And who is the Night Ruler, Father?" Kreswen paused for a moment before answering. Should he tell the child the frightening truth, or should he leave it for another day when the boy had grown? The boy's face urged for an answer. Perhaps this is the time, he thought. "Long ago," he began (it had actually been during the Fourth Age, under the reign of the First Council), "when Tizra was but a small village and all Nerkush was quiet and at peace, the Night Ruler came. The Yuki herdsmen were terrified when they saw that the heavens seemed to be in flames. Stars collided and some even said that war was in the sky. From their station high in the mountains they could see clearly as the night seemed to be on fire. Then the stars began to fall, but most of them vanished before they ever reached the ground." Kreswen left out many of the details. He realized that the child's mind was having difficulty as he grasped to understand what his father shared with him. He didn't tell him of the fierce fires that burned the pleasant plains of Umin and of the countless stories of mystery that surrounded the descent of the burning ones. "Then came the Night Ruler falling like a star from above. Only this star did not bum out like the others. It became brighter as it grew closer. Everyone ran from the spot where it landed, far on Shidow Mountain. The whole night began to glow. Then those who were brave enough to climb up and seek out its resting spot said that its radiance warmed them and gave them a peaceful feeling. After a while the light grew dim and the Ruler appeared as it faded. He was beautiful and as he came down into the plains, great crowds followed him. There was magic in his touch and beauty seemed to spread from him like the mist spreads over the valley in the end-season. Some were afraid of him, but they were considered fools and doubters. Soon he came to Shurar." "Where's that?" the boy asked. "It was a great city where Accad is today. The Council asked him to lead them. His wisdom seemed so great that they believed he could guide Nerkush to a bright future. No sooner had he taken power than the Fear began. Many say that it was as if light became darkness. Confusion scattered friends, families and neighbors. Hatred ripped at the people's hearts and they slaughtered one another without mercy. Some built great fortresses in which to hide. Men were sold as slaves and great monstrous beasts roamed the land. Creatures of darkness crept from the sea and devoured men. Even in this age there are stories that beasts still lurk in the forest of Zorek waiting to prey upon those who have forgotten the stories of our fathers and think of them as myths." Bracken was spellbound as he sat beside his father at the edge of the glen. He seemed to be listening with an intensity that drew the ancient story from his father. "The animals became afraid and ran from all who approached them. A few remained friendly, but even those seemed different. The land and the sea were upset and struggled with each other. No one knows all the story and many of the facts have been lost over the years. Of course many just laugh at these things and call them imaginations." "Father," the child interrupted, "wouldn't it be wonderful if all the animals could become like the swaim and be our friends again? He has such soft fur!" The animal had finished eating and was watching them again, hoping for a second helping. "Papa," he continued, "do you suppose we could take the swaim home, perhaps he would like to live with us? I would love to have him as a pet." "It would be better if we left him here in the woods," Kreswen answered, "for this is his home and we can always come here and visit him again." Kreswen stared up into the sky, watching the white clouds as they drifted on the soft breeze. "It has been said," he continued, more to himself than to the boy, "there Is a day coming when all the animals will be our friends again. It will be the day when the Night Ruler is cast away forever and the Prince of Wonder will come again. Then all the earth will sing and the trees will make music as they did before the coming of the Fear." "When will that be?" Bracken asked. "Will I be alive? Will I see him come?" "Many have said that it is soon," responded Kreswen. "They believe that life as we know it now will change greatly and that the final struggle for the lives of men will end, and that the grasp of the Night Ruler will be shattered. It is believed that only those who have given their allegiance to the Prince of Wonder will know that the end is here. Many will have to pay for that knowledge with their lives." Kreswen picked up a colorful stone from the ground. Turning it over, he examined its texture as he talked. "The Night Ruler is strong and hates all knowledge of the Prince of Wonder. He says that there is no Prince. Many have believed his lies and mimic his greed and hate. But the Prince of Wonder, it is said, will come and destroy him before he can complete his plan." Kreswen knew that the story wasn't quite that simple, but he had to make it so the child could understand it. Although he had a much deeper understanding of the great conflict, he found it hard to put it all into words that his son could comprehend. Even while he was relating the simplified story, the true reality of it made him shudder. For beyond the grasp of Bracken's mind were countless stories of terror and hope. It would take days to relate the threads of truth that at times seemed like myths even to him. So many had forgotten the records of the Prince of Wonder. Few gained any more than a philosophic appreciation of his life. "He lived and died and that was it," many said, "and this is all that matters ... his life was a good example." He should be imitated but never worshipped. Sometimes Kreswen reasoned this way himself. He knew how Myrus felt and he respected her hopes. Concerning his own beliefs, he had yet to be sure of them, but he told his son the story anyway. He would finish it and make sure that the child at least knew the facts so that he could make the choice for himself. He slipped the stone into his pouch and continued his story. "Yes, son, his coming may be soon. All the words of the Sayers have been fulfilled, and as surely as he has died to break the spell of the Night Ruler, he will come again to destroy him and build a new world." Kreswen rose to his feet and looked up the rise. Ahead, a clearing could be seen in the forest. "Enough of those things now. Let's go on to the orchard!" The jippen trees were ripe at this time of year. They found one close to the entrance of the orchard, its branches heavy with fruit. Each took a jipe and began to munch contentedly as they walked further into the garden. "There's something so wonderful about this place, Father. The air is so full of sweetness." Around them stretched row upon row of bushes and trees. It seemed every hundred yards another type of tree was ripening. An exceptional thing about Tizra was its climate. Trees of all types could be planted and fruit would grow all year round. In the end season, the firm and hardy quatten and sytten flourished, and in the warm-spring kastet and bigid grew plump and juicy. Now, of course, the jippen was ripe. Kreswen liked it best of all and he was sure that his son did too. "Let's gather some for the rest of the family. Your mother said to bring them home for dessert." Together they picked the jipe and placed them in their side packs. After they had finished, they jogged back through the woods. At the edge of the forest, they stopped and gazed down upon the quiet scene below them. Springbrook could be seen descending beyond them until its silver green surface slipped under the first trees at the edge of Tizra. The city had so many trees that even the mid-summer was pleasant as long as one stayed beneath them. Kreswen watched his son as he took in the grandeur of the view. He loved this child so. Feelings he could not describe flooded his thoughts. How do you tell your son how much he means to you? There seemed no way but just to give him the best of everything possible. "Let us go home, Bracken," Kreswen said as they walked slowly down the rolling hills toward Tizra. Kreswen sighed. Perhaps someday Bracken would understand how much he was loved.