He stepped away from the fire and started up the narrow pathway into the rocks. That, too, was a part of his old life that would not let him go-dreams, visions of worlds beyond worlds, of warnings and truths, of things that could and sometimes must be. The dreams had told him it must be now, and he believed the dreams because he understood them. How else, after all, save for the Druid Sleep, could he still be standing there? He shivered against the descending night, darkness all about him now as the last of the sunlight slipped below the horizon. It wasn't possible to be free of something that, at the very least, was responsible for the fact that he was still alive. He had thought that part finished, gone forever. It was so long ago, so far back in time that it was a part of his life he only barely recognized. Strange that he should have outlasted them all. Paranor, the Councils of the Races, even the Druids-gone. Strange, he thought suddenly, remembering his years. He was so wrinkled and hunched down that he looked to be a hundred years old. White hair and beard wreathed his head, thin and fine, like 2 His skin was leathery and brown and had shrunken close against his bones. Gray robes and a forest cloak hung on him as they would have on a scarecrow. He was just a bundle of sticks, loosely tied together, that might crumble into dust if a strong wind were to blow. The fire sparked sharply and the old man brushed at a stray bit of glowing ash that threatened to settle on him. There was a hush to the mountains, a secrecy that clung like mist on a frosty morning and hid all the dreams of the ages. The peaks of the Dragon's Teeth jutted skyward like bones the earth could not contain. His eyes glittered as he looked off into the distance. He stood at the edge of the light, caught between the fire and the growing dark, a creature who might have belonged to neither or both. He poked at it with a stick, then stepped away, driven back by the heat. He studied the fire with a mixture of expectation and uneasiness before reaching down to add the larger chunks of deadwood that brought the flames up quickly.
After all, he would be gone for several hours. A fire burned before him, small still, just the beginning of what was needed. It was a hush that whispered of magic, the old man thought. A hush filled the emptiness left by the fading light like a voice waiting to speak. Scattered clouds masked the sky, casting their silhouettes upon the earth, drifting in the manner of aimless beasts between moon and stars. The day had been cool, unusually so for midsummer, and the night promised to be chill. 1 Terry Brooks The old man sat alone in the shadow of the Dragon's Teeth and watched the coming darkness chase the daylight west. Scions Of Shannara Heritage of Shannara vol.
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