Ranger Chapel

 



Sir Andrew stood in the velvet silence of the Ranger Chapel. Here, it was easy to believe that the ghosts of a thousand generations stood beside him. It was easy to feel the abiding melancholy of so many who spent their entire existence in service against the darkness, and the darkness seemed as strong as ever.

He looked at the simple, unadorned walls. Just like himself. Like all the Rangers, calling no attention to themselves, slipping in and out of civilization only when needed.

His spirit felt heavy, as if it wanted to droop and ooze out of his boots and be free of the fading husk that housed it.

If he let it go, would his spirit stay within these bare walls? Would it at last be content, commingled here with the dust and the ghosts of friends?

Teng flew into the room and perched on a beam. "I feel your sadness," she said. "Come away from this place. It is not for you. Let us roam the hills again and be free to sing with the moon."

Andrew nodded, the spell broken. He lit a candle on the simple altar and left a silver coin. As he walked into the autumn evening, the sunset lighting the forest with horizontal rays of gold, he felt a tug. A wordless part of him seemed to say, "You know what is left behind. You know your comrades can not rest while you live the life they could never have."



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