There was time before violence began to spread in the land, when the crackle of power was potent across the mountains. There was a time when the immortal “wild things” were not simply whispered tales of old, hushed into stories told to babes in their cradles. Tales that were once true stories only to become forgotten and hidden in mystery. That was the time Legone thought of as he ran through the Algrema Forest, keeping to the southern curve of the wildwood. He was aware of the shift in the air; of the change in the way the plants grew, the way the people of the forest hid from him. Their eyes watched him even as he moved silently through their territory, unable to hide from them yet a blur stained in their memories all the same. Legone did not know how he knew where to go; it seemed a h...

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