Egan shouldered his pack after returning his water skin to its place. Peeking above the fur collar of his borrowed coat he could see the cabin in the distance. Woodlawn Darkfeather preferred to be secluded. Though an ally of the kingdom, he lived in isolation. Some called him a guardian or sage, but he preferred to simply think of himself as a scholar. Hidden away with his books, he unlocked the secrets of the realm.

Egan’s breathing was heavy. He staggered through the snow up to the cabin’s weathered door. The rough timber used to fabricate the cabin gave it a look of aged wisdom. Egan wrapped the ring of the door knocker three times.

“Wh-h-oo goes there?” Woodlawn’s bird-like warble startled Egan.

“My name is Egan Hackett, Sir Darkfeather.”

“Wh-h-oo sent you? One doesn’t just wander to the top of my mountain.”

“The king, Sir,” Egan uttered with trembling voice.

“Come in out of the cold then.”

The door swung open and Egan looked up at the eight foot tall owl with feathers as black as coal. He was cloaked in a brown robe with a large gold pendant around his neck. Egan didn’t recognize the the seal it bore, but he assumed it was of high esteem.

“The king tells me you know much about the Cerulean. What it is and what it can do.”

Woodlawn stroked his beard feathers and stared puzzled at Egan.

“Not Wh-h-at my boy, but Wh-h-oo. The King does not even understand H-h-is own H-h-istory. Come; I have much to tell you.”

He sat Egan down at the large desk in the center of his study and disappeared into a back room. He returned to place a book in front of Egan and a tray of warm Tawn Root tea.

“Let me tell you the legend of the Cerulean.”