An hour and a half later.
Torin couldn't help but sigh, having listened to Mael all that time retell stories he had heard from the adults. The boy had been enthusiastic, his eyes wide with excitement as he recounted each tale, his hands gesturing wildly to emphasize the more dramatic moments.
But for all his energy, the stories themselves were... underwhelming.
There was a story about a troll shaman that lived deep in the forest, who would sneak into the village at night and kidnap misbehaving children to make into stew.
Neither Mael nor his parents, who had told the story, even knew what a shaman was. Torin suspected the parents were probably just mixing scary words together while making up a story to make their son behave.
The troll shaman was just a bogeyman, a convenient threat to keep children in line.
There were some other stories—about how the ancient ghost of a king of Daggerfall had once destroyed the village, which, funnily enough, might have some truth to it.
There had been an old struggle in the area between the Bay Kings and the Empire long ago, which extended to this area, and there was a murdered king with unfinished business in the mix as well.
What little historical material Torin had found was rather vague on the outcome, but most sources seemed to agree that the Empire had come out on top. The ghost story was likely a distorted memory of that conflict, a tale passed down through generations until the facts had blurred into legend.
Either way, Torin, unfortunately, didn't hear anything that might be of use to him.
Legends and old folk tales are often dismissed as mere myths and fairy tales, and that's a reasonable approach. However, at times, such tales are warnings from those who came before—and aren't completely false.
The green lady, for example, had turned out to be Madam Aveline. Torin had been hoping he'd hear a similar story, something that might point him in the direction of the elusive guardian beast.
Alas, he was disappointed.
"And you're sure that's all the stories you know?" Torin asked without much hope. He was already annoyed with himself for wasting an hour, but he still needed to be sure—one last question, one final chance that the boy might have forgotten something important.
Mael put on a thoughtful expression as he stared up at the sky, his small brow furrowing as he rummaged through his memories for anything that he might have missed. His lips moved silently, as if he were testing the words before speaking them aloud.
After a couple of moments, he spoke, his voice hesitant.
"Well... it isn't a story, but I did hear my uncle say something about the ancient spirit of the forest."
Torin frowned, his interest piqued.
"Ancient spirit of the forest? What's that?"
Mael shook his head, his eyes wide.
"I don't know. But my uncle said that if you stay at the old tree near the lake south of the village until midnight..." He paused, his eyes narrowing as he began to look left and right, as if afraid someone might overhear. His voice dropped to a lower, hushed tone. "The ancient spirit will appear. To judge your worth."
Torin was taken aback.
"Judge your worth? How?"
Mael shook his head again, his expression uncertain.
"No one knows. My uncle says no one from the village goes there because they're afraid they'll be found lacking." He paused, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "He says it's better not to know."
Torin let out a low hum, intrigued.
"And what happens if you're found lacking?"
Mael shrugged, his small shoulders rising and falling.
"We don't know that either." He paused, his voice dropping even lower. "But many poachers and bandits have been found dead there. My uncle says the spirit doesn't suffer fools."
Torin nodded slowly, his mind already turning over this new information. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a handful of septims, the coins glinting in the morning light.
"Thank you, Mael. That was very helpful." He pressed the coins into the boy's hand. "Take it. For your trouble."
The boy's eyes brightened instantly as he took the coins and pocketed them, his earlier nervousness forgotten in the face of unexpected wealth.
"Thanks, sir!"
Torin smiled and shooed Mael away with a gentle wave of his hand.
"Run along now, boy."
He watched the child skip away happily, the coins clutched tightly in his small fist, his earlier nervousness replaced by the simple joy of unexpected fortune.
Torin's smile faded as he fell into thought, his gaze drifting toward the treeline. Echo let out a yawn and laid back on the grass, her massive head resting on her paws, her dark eyes half-closed in contentment.
If this is about the guardian beast of the forest—and it certainly sounds like it—then this might be the only way for me to find it.
The fact that only poachers and bandits had died there according to the story was nothing if not an indicator of a creature clever enough to distinguish between humans and judge their actions. It was also proof that it was powerful enough to enact its judgments.
Furthermore, the fact that there was a story at all meant that people had lived to tell it after seeing the creature.
Of course, he mused, it could just be another fairy tale—albeit one meant to scare bandits and poachers rather than children.
He let out a long, slow sigh and turned toward the forest.
Echo, noticing his actions, let out an annoyed grunt and slowly stood up, shaking the grass from her fur. Her expression was unmistakable—she had been comfortable, and she was not pleased about being disturbed.
Torin chuckled, reaching down to scratch behind her ears.
"I know, I know. But we'll have the whole rest of the day to lounge around once we find this supposed big old tree."
Echo huffed, but she fell into step beside him as he began to walk toward the treeline.
...
It didn't take Torin long to reach his destination.
The ancient yew tree stood at the edge of the lake, its massive form looking like several trees coalescing into one. Its trunk was thick and gnarled, its bark dark and deeply furrowed, and its branches stretched out in every direction like the arms of a benevolent giant.
Despite its age, the tree was still vibrant—its branches were filled with needle-like leaves, and dotted with small red fruit that Torin knew coated very poisonous seeds. The air around it felt different, heavier, as if the tree itself was aware of his presence.
The weather was perfectly warm, and the breeze was just right—gentle and cool, carrying the scent of water and earth.
Torin couldn't help but grin as he put his backpack on the ground and leaned Skaldrfong against the tree. He turned to the lake, its surface smooth and clear, and he could even see the silhouettes of fish swimming lazily beneath the water.
Too bad I didn't bring a fishing rod. Otherwise I—
His sentence was cut short as Echo darted past him, her massive body hitting the water with a thunderous splash that sent fish fleeing in all directions.
Torin stared at the rippling water, then at the bear's contented face as she paddled around, completely oblivious to his dismay.
"...Otherwise nothing," he said flatly.
He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips, and headed back to the tree. With a long sigh, he lowered himself to the ground and leaned against the ancient trunk, its bark cool and solid against his back.
Echo splashed around in the lake for a few more minutes before finally wading back to shore with a big fish in her mouth, shaking herself dry and settling down beside him with a contented grunt.
For now, he could only wait till midnight to see if the story Mael had told him had any truth to it.
It sure would be nice if that were the case, he thought, closing his eyes.
...
It was midnight. The moon hung high and full, casting silver light across the lake, turning its surface into a mirror of pale stars. The fire crackled softly, its flames casting dancing shadows across the ancient yew tree. Echo was already asleep, her massive form curled into a tight ball near the warmth of the embers, her breath slow and rhythmic.
Torin, in the meanwhile, sat on a small boulder near the fire, practicing the only hobby he indulged in aside from reading books—leisurely carving a piece of wood into a little axe.
The knife moved in steady, practiced strokes, peeling away thin curls of bark and wood. It helped him stay entertained and alert, keeping the drowsiness at bay even as the night deepened around him.
Just as Torin was finishing carving the blade of the axe and ready to start on the haft, he heard the sound of footsteps.
They were soft, deliberate—the kind of steps that belonged to a creature that had no need to hide. He instantly reached for Skaldrfong and rose to his feet, his eyes scanning the darkness beyond the firelight.
Echo stirred, her head lifting, a low growl rumbling in her chest.
One quick look around, and he quickly found the source of the sound.
It was a massive white stag. Its body was larger than any deer Torin had ever seen—easily the size of a very big horse—and its antlers were equally impressive, a sprawling crown of bone that seemed to glow faintly under the moonlight.
Its fur was pure white, so bright it almost seemed to emit its own light, and its eyes were a calm, piercing blue that held no fear.
The stag stood at the edge of the clearing, watching him with an ancient, patient gaze. In its mouth, it carried a cloth bag—simple, worn, the kind a traveler might use to carry supplies. It held the bag with the casual ease of a creature that had done this many times before.
Torin blinked, his mind instantly wandering to the white stag from the stories—the one that the Dragonborn might have to hunt if they chose to follow Hircine's Daedric quest. That stag had also been larger than usual, a manifestation of the Prince of the Hunt. But this one felt very different. There was no hunger in its gaze, no predatory calculation.
It felt wise, benevolent, like the divine manifestation of something infinitely more kind than Hircine.
What are you? Torin wondered, his grip on the spear loosening slightly.
The stag, as if it didn't have time to deal with Torin, turned away and began walking toward the other side of the massive yew tree.
Curious, Torin decided to follow. Echo padded silently behind him. Both man and bear watched as the stag stood before the massive trunk of the tree for a moment.
The bark began to distort—wrinkling and rippling like the surface of water disturbed by a stone—before slowly disappearing, revealing the mouth of a hollow within the tree itself.
The stag walked in without hesitation, its white fur disappearing into the darkness within.
Torin and Echo followed, stopping at the entrance to see what was inside.
His eyes widened at the sight.
The hollow was larger than it had any right to be—a spacious chamber lit by a soft, golden glow that seemed to come from the walls themselves. Nestled in the center of the chamber were a dozen babies of different animals.
There were baby deer, their long legs folded beneath them, their eyes blinking sleepily. There were piglets, their snouts twitching as they sniffed the air. And there, curled up in a corner, was a wolf cub, its small body rising and falling with each breath.
The stag dropped the cloth bag, and it opened to reveal more than enough vegetables and fruits to feed the little critters—root vegetables, apples, berries, and a small piece of meat wrapped in leaves for the wolf cub. The stag then proceeded to distribute the food, nudging each bundle toward its intended recipient with gentle precision.
When it was done, the stag turned and walked back toward the entrance, stepping past Torin and Echo. The bark behind them rippled and reformed, sealing the hollow once more.
The stag then turned to look at Torin, its calm blue eyes meeting his. Its gaze was patient, expectant, as if saying, I'm free now. What do you want?
...
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