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It was a house of oak, a house in ruins. She expected the damage, but not a man in chains. |
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"Who the hell are you?" Cal finally repeated, as his knuckles turned to white against the comforting curve of his shotgun.
"Darach," the man closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if all the talking was starting to wear him out. "No," I interjected with a glance toward my friend; I could see the frustration chipping away at his better manners. "What are you?" "Ah," a sigh passed through Darach's cracked lips and he closed his eyes as if the question pained him even more than his injuries. "I understand." Those viridian eyes startled me with their sudden clarity, as Darach gathered himself as best he could to his full height. He was frail - starving - but he had been a burly man at one point. He had pride still, too; it flashed through his eyes as he pushed himself off of the post and wavered unsteadily on his own. For just a moment, I could see that Darach, whoever or whatever he was, had been a potent presence. "I am the Third Cardinal of Tír-na-nÓg and Knight of the Stave," regally, in spite of his brokenness, Darach bowed his head toward us. "I am one of the Oak-wise, Chief of the Nawglan." |
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