There was a long silence. A warm breeze sent leaves spinning to the ground like airborne dervishes. In the distance a veery sang its ethereal song. A pair of doves cooed lovingly.

“I can’t explain, Anselm. I just can’t.” He fought the desire to explain everything involving the council and its threats, the visits, and the mysterious gnomes who shadowed him when we was off work. He wanted to open up and not live in fear of the ramifications. He wanted to admit that he wished the whole ordeal had never happened. “You have to believe me. I’m not trying to keep things from you. I want to explain but I can’t.”

“Well I’m sorry that you can’t trust me anymore. I guess I’ll leave you to your thoughts then” he said turning to go. For a moment the two friends stood facing each other. A lifetime seemed to pass in that tepid silence. Finally Anselm side-stepped Aubrey and headed off down the trail. “Have a great evening,” he barked as he rounded a bend and disappeared. Anselm never even turned to look back.

Quiet again fell on the forest. Oblivious to time, Aubrey stood as the sun sank lower and lower on the horizon. He bit his lip to contain alternating thoughts of rage and despair. He both hated his friend and yet longed to be free from the burden of silence. Through the pain, he heard the voice of his father speak. “Be strong,” he had often said, “The world is never as dark as the darkness we create for it.” The old gnome, now departed had seen his share of struggles debating the council as foreman of the granary as well as trying to raise three precocious boys intent on exploring the limits of the Meadow. Still he had always remained a rock amid it all. He could spend fourteen hours with a scythe in his hand and still have the energy to wrestle Aubrey and his brothers before bedtime. Aubrey wished that his father were here now. He longed to feel his strong arms surround him, protecting him. He prayed for an ounce of the strength Abner Meriwether possessed. But his father was gone; passed on before his time and he was alone. All Aubrey could do was honor his memory by trying to live up to his father’s example; never resigning to fear or doubt.

A symphony of crickets and the night songs of birds filled the clearing. Then a voice spoke…