The clearing must have looked much the same as it had months ago. Yet to him, it seemed darker, duller. It was as if all the light, all the color and vibrance, had been sucked right out of it. Through his eyes, no light streamed through the branches, no green glow of leaves as they waved gracefully in the breeze.
No stain tainted the spot where the body had fallen, but Bregoan could see it nonetheless. It lay where it had fallen, blood spilled on the fertile soil. Just as it had been when he had left.
He dare not close his eyes, knowing the scene would again play out in excruciating detail in his mind. Yet he could not help himself. He sagged to his knees and with his head in his hands relived every emotion, every breath, every movement. Tears slipped from his eyes, but he brushed them away angrily.
Why did he even feel this way? He still hated them. He still hated them all. He still wanted the Dunlending to pay for what they had done. But… something was wrong with this. This was not how it was supposed to be done. This was not him.
He groaned and pushed himself up against a tree. He sat there, legs doubled up in front of him, his thoughts running tortuously this way and that.
Talae crept quietly to the edge of the grove. It had been difficult to keep up with Bregoan many times; he was so familiar with these paths, it seemed that he effortlessly move through them. Now she felt he had finally reached his destination. The grove was beautiful. The trees provided a full leafy cover, sheltering the wood. The only sounds were the echoes of a few birds and small animals running to and fro, calling to each other from somewhere in the trees.
She slipped beneath the shade of the trees and tried to find Bregoan again. Finally she spotted him. He sat with his back against a tree, face red, and eyes closed. First she thought he may have been sleeping, but in a few moments she hoped that he was not. His face would occasionally twist into an agonized, or cruel expressions that would have been the result of some terrible nightmare.
She debated what to do momentarily, finally deciding to slip up to him and gently whisper to him. Before she reached him, he turned at the sound of a foot fall and hurriedly dried his eyes. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “I was worried,” she straightened up and looked at him steadily, “You have been so… strange lately.”
“Well. Here I am. I am fine. As you can see.”
“Fine… yes. I can see that. Do you find that this beautiful grove gives you peace?” she glanced around, and aimlessly started wandering toward the center of the clearing.
“Peace?” his voice was twisted into a sneer, but it was cut short as he grabbed her arm to prevent her from continuing out. “Wait. Don't go out there,” he pleaded. She relented, but looked at him quizzically, “Why? What is wrong?”
“It's… I … just please.”
“Ok… but Bregoan, you are not fine. I wish you would tell me what is wrong.”
He fell awkwardly to the ground, crossing his legs and fidgeting with his hands. She sat across from him, and listened as he began, haltingly.
“I was here. A few months ago. Only… then I wasn't the only one here. There was a Dunlending. With a book. I … I don't know what came over me. I… I… killed him.”
She could not hide the shock, “you just killed him? Was there a fight?”
He pulled leaves and grass from the earth, crushing them in his hands. “No. He never saw me coming. I…” he stopped and cleared his throat, “His book is all written with elvish script. But it is evil sounding, not like elvish words at all. It feels wrong. I have been trying to read it for weeks now.”
“But why? I don't understand.”
“Neither do I!” he pushed himself around so that his back was facing her now, “I just want to forget about this whole thing. Its just… I can't.”
Talae laid a hand hesitantly on his shoulder and whispered quietly, “Revenge breeds pain, forgiveness brings healing.”
