Another tree toppled over, joining dozens others. A great harvest had begun. The red lizardman examined the wood, fingering the bark's grooves and counting the rings of each trunk. The creature removed the trunks of all branches and leaves, and piled them near the eastern wall of Trollsbane. He looked at the most recently chopped trunk, and engraved "C / 6" in the bark. Connifer wood, six years of age. This process had been continuing for hours when the drizzling rain began. The red lizard looked up, smiling, and covered the piles of logs and piles of branches with old, ragged cloaks.
This was his new life, the lizard supposed to himself. A lumberjack and, in time, a great carpenter. Perhaps even a decent bowman, but such would require countless years of practice. He focused on the nearer future. But more than anything, he continuously found himself wandering in the past.
Too many years had passed since that day, that great battle. But the lizard remembered it perfectly. He remembered the monks, he remembered Tobias and Brian, Moden and Cloud. But most of all, the lizard remembered the Fire Seers, and their great brotherhood. Finding himself staring into the rainy sky, puddles of water gathering on his face, the lizard sighed. He sighed at time itself, the constant flow that he wished could be turned back. Perhaps they're still out there, he thought to himself. And so he hoped.
As he later swung the rusted axe into, the drizzling rain gone and replaced by the showing of wood chips, he remembered his great halberd Aeleshni. Marvelous was its craftsmanship, and he was fairly skilled when it came to wielding the weapon. How many goblins did he strike down, he would never remember, but the lizard knew he was far from the best warrior in the lands. And after what had happened, he could not even be considered a fighter; the lizard's muscles had faded away to nothing in the years that he slumbered, waiting to be awakened, waiting to be saved. His grip had weakened after such scarce use, his cramping hand felt old and weary with the fatigue of a life filled with marvelous memories. But the lizard was not old, or at least he didn't believe so. How many years he must have lost slumbering was unkown. He still seemed to be growing, for when he awoke the lizard had a hard time moving, due to extra weight and longer legs and tail.
As much as the creature tried to fill the emptiness inside himself, the gaping hole that could never be filled, he found it imminent that he would return to missing the flame. Yes, the fire had died long ago, perhaps with his friends. Perhaps with him. And although he loved to chop trees in solitude, he would never forget those long lost in the histories of Illarion.
To chop trees in solitude
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