The Dragon Arrows
An Account of Dorn Ravensbrooke Final Entry
Being an Account of Dorn Ravensbrooke, Ranger
It had been a good life. Better than I deserved. These past few years have been a gift—that’s how I should look at it. My life by all rights should have ended in Ravensbrook, but I was given a brief time of happiness afterwards. More than most people get. That time has come to an end. Enna, I’m sorry.
The ranger gave me a slight nod— almost imperceptible, but coming from an elf the gesture is grand. They respect me for what I’m doing. Truly, it’s not some noble sacrifice; this is my fault, after all. The spirits have been vengeful, my people are suffering. My fault. I’ve let it go on long enough.
The Lurkwood needs a god. I’m connected to it, somehow. It won’t be the same as it was, probably never will be, but I feel like I can do something. The elves have managed it the best they could. Their presence is another small kindness; if I were Baron, I probably would have fought them, as Umber does now.
We are deep in the forest now. This is the place. The words do not come easily anymore. I am losing some of myself. The god of the forest is dead, but there is power in echoes. I must do what I can. We are connected.
Enna is with child. Perhaps they can live their lives away from all of this, they would never have the chance if I stayed. This is for the best. I had always hoped for a perfectly just world, but now that would be my greatest fear. I deserve much worse than this. My only hope is that my son is spared the sins of his father.
It is time. I am unafraid.