The Mafransnor Forest

[Lady Galadriel]

The Mafransnor Forest

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[Daresk Malahunt]

Daresk

Early morning, and the forest was misty.

Through the foggy half-light loped a dappled grey horse, a Clydesdale of impressive size and noble bearing. Atop it sat a rider, motionless, his face obscured by the mist. Reaching a fork in the pathway, the rider gave a short "woah," of command, and the horse stopped short. There were a few moments of efforted scrabbling, and then the rider fell gracelessly from his saddle, dropping in a crumpled heap to the ground. The heap groaned.

A few panting breaths, and with another groan of effort, it lifted its upper body on matchstick arms, resolving itself into the haggard shape of a boy. Truth be told, the boy was, in fact, pretty well a man, but he was small and frail, and there was something in his pallid, drawn face that somehow suggested youth. "Well," the boy muttered, his accent slanged and lower-class, "that went less than well."

Grabbing at the horse's leg for support, he hauled himself into a standing position, still leaning heavily on the animal as he drew a black cane from a sheath-like holder affixed to the horse's saddle. "This," he muttered, panting, his legs shaking beneath him, "is not working."

He had been travelling the past few days, had left his home province of D'gran for Shivalithgar, with every intent of seeing the world. He liked travel. Generally. What he did not like was getting lost in misty forests at sunrise, and, upon finally finding the path, realizing that it forked off and that the signposts were all apparently gone, or had never been there in the first place. "Bugger," he said aloud, limping a few feet with the aid of the black cane untill he came to the precise point where the road forked. He scanned the bushes for a knocked-down signpost. Nothing. If only his sense of direction was a little better- or, at least, didn't get totally mixed-up every time he lapsed into a coughing fit. "Bugger," he repeated.


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