Page 82 - full

The Journals of Raymond Brooks 81
anything except his face and the forest glade I was in. There
was dry blood in my hair; I wondered where it had come from.

I quickly realized that I had no idea what was going on.
“Who’d be hunting ye, boy?” He asked after studying my
tattered uniform, looking over his shoulder.
“Eini Zoher,” I said to him, those were the only words which
sprang to my mind.
“What’s that? Some sort of password? A chant?” He asked,
puzzled. I strained and gestured with my hands that I knew
nothing. He held my head and gave me some water from his
water-skin. I was grateful, and so very thirsty. I wanted to thank

him but knew of no way to give thanks.
He paid me no heed, and looked about as if he heard
something, then lay perfectly still on the muddy ground,
planting his ear deep in the mud. Then after a few moments he
rose and wiped the mud from his face. He smiled this strange
smile that people often have when they are content with some
secret knowledge. I grew too tired and heavy to think, my eyes

shut against my will and I faded away.
I woke up in a cabin, lying on a straw bed. I looked around,
trying to gather my bearings. Not recognizing the place, I moved
to a sitting position. My right hand hurt and the pain increased
as I awoke. I studied it, not knowing where the bandages had
come from. I tried to think of where I had hurt my hand, but
could not recollect. My head, too, was wrapped up, and no
memory of any injury came to mind. Not knowing anything
made me feel quite agitated.

“So you’re finally up!” A voice spoke, and I turned my
attention from my hand to the direction of the voice. It was
the old forester. I recognized him quite quickly and was proud
of myself for the accomplishment. The forester’s face seemed