Zach Merovech

Shieldmaiden

Beneath the trees, the atmosphere was stifling. Halfdan struggled to negotiate a path through the dense undergrowth and soaring evergreens. The thick trunks leaned together conspiratorially, and entangled roots grasped at his feet. Dew coated everything, evidenced by his saturated garb. Halfdan paused to stretch. His old body ached, and the morning chill was not helping. They had been hunting since before sunrise with little luck. He peered through the half-light. The scattered shafts of sunlight that pierced the canopy struggled to illuminate the gloom of the forest floor. It was beautiful. Primeval.