Shadows of Giants






Sir Andrew stopped at the edge of the ancient forest, his skin tingling, his feet heavy. He had felt this same odd sensation once, long ago.

He had been called "sergeant" back then, and his squad had been jogging forward, passing through and around the mostly untrained militia - farmers and boys with ramshackle armor and rusty swords.

It had been a terrible day.

And today, facing the shadows of centuries-old giants, he felt...stopped. It was like his feet were moving through mud. His spirit was reluctant to advance. His mind whispered that it would be nice to turn around, wouldn't it? Go back into the sun and leave this alien place behind.

He lifted a heavy arm and pushed against the empty air as if it had become a locked door.

A shimmer of color glinted around his hand. It swirled and vanished.

So, this is magic, he thought. Was it magic like this that had slaughtered his squad? Was it magic like this that had slowed his steps as his friends and comrades trotted to their doom?

While he lived? Remembering. Every day.

Maybe this magic would slaughter him, too. He snorted. He probably deserved it.

He forced himself to step forward.


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