A sudden thud hit the snow, sending a clump into Drews sleeping face. He murmured, “Longshanks, not again I’m too…tired…” the last word fading between the still cracking fire as Drew turned away from the juicy white hare Tarron had brought especially the young elf.
Longshanks let out another “Braagh” as he strolled out of the forest shadows into the bright cadium-yellow sunshine. “Lord Longshanks, it is good to see you.” Tarron’s eyes immediately fell on the large mound of snow that covered the corpse of Galvistad. “What has Drew been up to? Building sleeping snow giants?”
The stag moved closer to the branch where Tarron was perched and proceeded to tell him of the events that had taken place over the last couple of days. Tarron was speechless. He turned his head around so much and so rapidly that Longshanks thought it might fall off. “Oh my. Oh my,” he kept repeating.
“I will repeat you, so I am certain I heard correctly. Galvistad is… dead?” Tarron could hardly say the last word. “Yes,” replied Longshanks with the kind of certainty in his voice that only the king of Cervidae possesses.
“And, this thing about Master Drew as you call him, do you really believe he went to the galleon moon?”
“We know legions of wolves, vampire bats, imps and all sorts of other clones are sent down…
