Chương 115: Chapter 15: A Name Among Us - Part II

Kaelen POV Eammon's grin widens as he steps closer to the Hollowmane.

"What is it?" The boy looks at the cub for several moments with the seriousness of someone who has been given an important task, then crouches in front of it and studies its face as though the answer might be written there. The Hollowmane seems entirely unconcerned by the attention, resting beneath the Heartwood with its forepaws stretched out in front of it while Eammon circles around slightly to get a better look.

"I don't know yet." Aine looks at her brother, "You said you had one."

"I said I know."

"That's different." Eammon frowns at her, "It is not." Aibell smiles and shakes her head, "I suppose we'd better let him think." I lean against the trunk of the Heartwood and watch them. The conversation feels strangely ordinary after everything that has happened over the past few days, and perhaps that is why I find myself enjoying it more than I expected. There is no contract waiting for me, no council demanding answers and no creature somewhere in the forest trying to tear me apart.

There is only a group of people standing around a young magical beast, arguing over what to call it. Eammon finally looks toward me, "What would you name it?" I blink, "Me?"

"You're the one it follows."

"That doesn't mean I should name it."

"It follows you."

"So?"

"So, you should name it." I look down at the Hollowmane. It lifts its head slightly when our eyes meet, then lowers it again, "I've never been particularly good at naming things." Aibell laughs, "That's probably true." I give her a look, "What?"

"You're the Grovekeeper. Surely you can name one creature."

"Plants are easier."

"How?"

"They don't argue." Garrick, who has been standing nearby listening to the discussion, lets out a quiet laugh, "That's because you haven't heard a tree complain." I look at him, "I've heard enough from you to know that would be preferable." His smile widens. Eammon crouches beside the cub again, "I think it should have a strong name."

"Why?"

"Because it's going to be strong." I glance toward him, "That's quite a prediction."

"It already has Iron agility." Eammon looks proud that he remembered, "And Silver potential." Lorcan raises an eyebrow, "You were listening."

"I listen." Aibell smiles, "Sometimes." Eammon ignores her and begins listing possibilities, "Storm." The Hollowmane's ears twitch, "Thunder." Nothing.

"Lightning." Still nothing.

"Claw." The cub doesn't react.

"Fang." Nothing.

"Ravager." Garrick coughs into his hand, "Perhaps not." Eammon looks offended, "Why?"

"Because if you name it Ravager, you'll spend the next ten years explaining to people that it isn't actually a ravager." Eammon thinks about that, "Then Storm."

"That's already better." I glance toward Elyrion. He has remained quiet throughout the discussion, his expression carrying the faint amusement of someone who has decided that watching us argue is more entertaining than participating.

"What do you think?" He looks toward the Hollowmane, "A name should mean something." Eammon groans, "That's what grown-ups always say." Elyrion smiles faintly, "Because it is usually true." Lorcan closes his book and rises from his seat, "If we're choosing a name based on what it is now, we'll probably choose something that won't suit it later." I look at him, "Why?"

"Because it is going to grow." He gestures toward the cub, "The appraisal already told us that much." I nod, "Then perhaps we shouldn't name it for its size."

"Or its current strength," Elyrion adds. Eammon looks thoughtful, "What about something that means fast?" The Hollowmane lifts its head again. I notice the movement, "Maybe." This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Aine looks at the cub, "What about something that means brave?"

"That's better." She smiles, "But I don't know any names that mean brave."

"Neither do I." Everyone looks at Lorcan. He stares back, "Why is everyone looking at me?"

"Because you know everything," Eammon says.

"I certainly don't."

"You know more than us."

"That is not the same thing." He sighs and walks closer to the cub, studying it for a few moments, "There are old names for creatures of the northern ranges, but I doubt any of them would suit a Hollowmane."

"Why not?"

"Most of them describe qualities that belong to adults." He looks toward me, "Your cub isn't an adult." I glance at the Hollowmane, "No." It has grown since I first found it but there's still a great deal of growing to do. There is still a great deal of growing left to do, "Perhaps the name should be something it can grow into," I say. Aibell looks at me, "What do you mean?" I think for a moment, "When I was a seedkeeper, we didn't name a tree for what it was when it first broke through the soil.

We named it for what we hoped it would become." Lorcan smiles faintly, "That's a very druidic answer."

"I am a druid."

"I know." Eammon looks back at the cub, "So, we need a name for what it'll become."

"Perhaps." The Hollowmane rises and stretches, extending its forelegs before lifting its hindquarters and shaking its mane. The movement sends several loose strands of fur scattering across the ground, and Aine immediately reaches down to pick one up.

"It has a pretty mane." Eammon nods, "Maybe something about that." I crouch beside them. The cub walks toward me and lowers its head beneath my hand when I reach out, and I scratch along the thick fur around its neck. The texture is different from when I first found it, not only because there is more of it now, but because the individual strands feel stronger beneath my fingers. I think about the forest. The first time I saw it. The way it followed me after the Rasks were gone.

The way it had appeared beside me during the Veyrakh hunt. The way it had torn into the alpha's carcass and consumed the beaststone without hesitation. The way it had walked into the Guild and climbed onto an appraisal stone as though it belonged there. Perhaps it has always been more stubborn than frightened. Perhaps that is what I should remember.

"What about Gale?" Eammon looks at me, "Gale?"

"Yes." Aibell smiles, "You're naming it after its affinity""No," I shake my head, "It isn't about its affinity." Eammon looks unconvinced, "It sounds like it."

"It is about its speed." The Hollowmane raises its head. Its golden eyes settle on me. I say the name again, "Gale." The cub's ears twitch. I wait. It takes one step closer. Aine smiles, "I think it likes it." I glance at her, "We don't know that." The cub presses its head against my hand. Eammon's grin returns, "It definitely likes it." I look down at the creature. For once, I don't correct him, "Gale." The name feels simple when I say it, but not empty.

There is something about it that fits without needing an explanation. Aibell repeats it quietly, "Gale." Garrick nods, "Short enough that you'll actually use it."

"That's an important consideration." Lorcan smiles, "Then I suppose we've decided." I look around at them. No one objects. Even Elyrion gives a small nod. I look down at the Hollowmane once more, "All right." I run my hand through its mane, "Gale it is." Garrick POV The following morning, Elyrion has me back beneath the Silverwood before I have finished wondering whether yesterday's lesson was supposed to leave me this sore. I roll my shoulders once and look at the sword in my hand.

Elyrion watches from across the clearing.

"Again." I sigh, "You really have only learned one word."

"Perhaps you haven't learned the lesson yet." I cannot argue with that. I settle into my stance and reach inward, searching for the mana that has become easier to find with every session. It is still nothing compared to what I imagine a true Groveknight must possess, but it no longer feels like an unfamiliar presence that belongs to someone else. I can feel it now, faint and steady, and when I guide it toward my arms, it follows without the resistance I had become accustomed to during our first sessions. I move.

The first strike cuts cleanly through the air, and I allow the mana to follow the motion instead of forcing it ahead of me. My second strike comes immediately after, then the third, and by the time I reach the final movement of the sequence, I can feel the difference in every part of it. My body moves as it always has, but there is something beneath the movement now, something that gives each action a little more weight without making it slower. Elyrion raises his sword, "Now against me." I step forward.

The first exchange is quick enough that I barely have time to think. Our blades meet, and the impact travels through my arm, but this time I don't let the force push me backward. I draw mana into my legs and hold my ground before turning his blade aside. Elyrion follows immediately. I retreat one step, turn with his movement and bring my sword around again, but he catches the strike before it reaches him and redirects it toward my shoulder.

I twist away, allowing the blade to pass close enough that I feel the air move against my shirt, and before he can recover, I step back into range. My sword meets his. For a moment, neither of us gives ground. Then I feel it. The mana moves. Not because I command it. Because I move. I push forward and Elyrion gives ground. Only one step but it is enough. I follow immediately, bringing my sword around before he can fully recover, and this time I force him to retreat again.

His blade turns mine aside on the third exchange, but I am already moving with it, using the contact to redirect my own momentum rather than fighting against his strength. Elyrion's sword touches my shoulder. I freeze. He lowers his blade, "Better." I breathe heavily, "That's all?"

"You were expecting praise?"

"I was hoping for something more substantial."

"You didn't get hit until the third exchange." I look at him, "That sounds substantial." A faint smile appears on his face, "It is." I glance down at my sword. For the first time, I can feel the mana lingering around my arms after the exchange rather than disappearing the moment I stop concentrating on it. The sensation is faint, but it is there, and I realize that yesterday's lesson has not disappeared with the night's rest. It has settled into me. Elyrion walks closer.

"Again." I laugh, "Of course." We continue until my arms begin to shake and my breathing becomes too heavy to hide. Elyrion never seems to tire, though I suspect that has less to do with endurance and more to do with the fact that he has spent considerably longer learning how to do this than I have. Eventually, he lowers his sword, "Enough." I immediately lower mine as well. For a moment, I simply stand there and breathe.

The Grove is quiet around us, with only the distant sound of leaves moving beneath the morning breeze and birds calling somewhere beyond the clearing. I look toward the Silverwood, then down at the sword in my hand.

"How long?" Elyrion looks at me, "How long until what?"

"Until I can actually fight like a Groveknight." He considers the question, "That depends on you."

"That's not an answer."

"It is the only honest one." I sheath my sword, "You're beginning to sound like Kaelen." Elyrion's expression changes slightly, "Perhaps that is because you both ask questions whose answers cannot be given to you." I laugh quietly, "Fair enough." He turns toward the trees, "You have the foundation now." I look at him, "The foundation?"

"You know how to sense mana. You can move it without disrupting your own body. You are beginning to combine it with movements you already understand." He looks back at me, "From here, you build." I nod. It isn't much. But for the first time since Kaelen asked me to undertake this training, I no longer feel like I am trying to learn something that belongs to someone else. The sword is still mine. The discipline is still mine. The experience I gained before any of this is still mine.

Mana is simply becoming another part of the same weapon. I look toward the eastern edge of the Grove. The sun is climbing higher now, and somewhere beyond those trees lies Fallowspire, with its walls, its Guild, its merchants and the endless stream of people who have no idea what is slowly taking shape within this little patch of land. Elyrion starts walking away. I follow. After a few steps, he stops, "Garrick." I turn, "Yes?"

"Tomorrow, bring your armor." I stare at him, "Why?" He looks at me for a moment before answering, "Because tomorrow, we stop practicing against an empty blade." He walks away before I can ask anything else. I remain where I am for several seconds, staring after him. Then I look down at my sword. A slow smile spreads across my face. Perhaps tomorrow will finally be interesting.