How the Mourning Willow Came to Saunderbir
A Grieborn Story
When you live in a fantasy world of magic and monsters, what kind of fairy-tales do you tell children destined (or doomed, depending on your point of view) to give their lives as warriors and protectors against an almost unstoppable evil?
The happy little faces of the children looking enthusiastically up at him made Quentin wish he were dead.
He should have been by now, he thought. He’d been ten when Lord Ranger Musa Brody had defeated Grief and ended the last Cycle. That had been sixty-three years ago, and he’d always hoped he’d have passed on before the horror of the next Cycle started all over again. Unlike the other people of Terra Lumina, Quentin never held out much hope that Lord Ranger Brody had initiated the Final Reprieve. Hope wasn’t really much of an option for a Ranger.
“What story would you like to hear today?” He asked. He felt tired. His voice and body were strong despite his age, but his soul couldn’t feel it.
The kids shouted out names of their favorites. “The Ugly Duckling!” “The Sun Queen!” “The First Ranger!” The kinds of stories that were a little bit sad but always finished up with some version of “and they lived happily ever after.”
READ MORE“The Sad Tree!” The green-haired kid called out. Quentin never bothered to learn their names. There wasn’t any point.
The Sad Tree? What in Grief’s name…?
“That one’s too sad,” one of the kids protested.
“You only like that one ‘cuz the wizard has green hair!” One of the other kids accused.
Ohhh!
“The Mourning Willow?” Quentin asked. Of course the green-haired kid would like that one. Maybe it was because he was feeling sorry for himself, or maybe it was because he was already a little bit drunk, but he thought that one was a damn fine idea. A perfectly miserable story to fit his perfectly miserable mood, and a perfectly miserable lesson for the kids to learn. “Okay.”
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