This dryad stood at least six inches taller than Mordell and he was young and agile. Mordell kept doing moves that kept the dryad off balance and this helped him come back again and again to work on the rope. The frustration upon the dryad’s face began to amuse me and when Mordell had the second rope cut, the dryad yelled his anger and rushed. He almost got Mordell, but he was ready and quickly turned and slammed his enemy square in the face with the pummel of his sword. The dryad fell upon his back with blood flowing from his broken nose. He was unconscious.

Mordell came back to me and began working on the third rope. As he did so, I also began to wriggle in the net so that when the rope was cut, I could quickly rise out of it. Mordell was beginning to slow from all the blood he had lost. It was taking longer on this last one and that gave time for the dryad to wake up. We were too busy with my escape to notice that the dryad was getting up slowly. Finally Mordell’s sword cut through that third rope and I found I could just squeeze out of the net. My head and arms were free, but not my wings. That was more than enough to deal with the enemy. I turned to look upon my savior, but I was too late. I saw just in time the sword of the dryad sink right through Mordell’s heart from behind.

I screamed! I felt like the love of my life had been killed before my very eyes instead of a man that I didn’t know. I was told that my scream was heard for miles. Everyone around me almost fainted with the terror that it sent through them. But I barely heard myself and I have trouble remembering what I did after that. I do know that the first dryad to die by me that night was the one that killed Mordell. I used his lifeless body like a club in striking down may of the other dryads. The rest I burned to ashes.

The battle was soon over. Barely a handful of Mordell’s men were still alive.

I went to Mordell’s side. He was barely alive. He weakly asked for his sword. He wanted someone to help him hold it up in the air. His hands held the sword, but one of his men held his hands upon it. Then he spoke weakly, but with fervor, “I bequeath my soul unto this sword!” Then his strength gave away, but he still held on for one last request. He looked at me and spoke, “Give my sword to my son and . . .” But he said no more and his eyes looked far beyond me.

I commanded the men to gather the dead and take them home, but I had Mordell and his things strapped to my back. I took him home.

I lost something that night. It is something that I do not know how to describe, but I have found others that understand that loss. Such can only be told in a story like this. Someday you will also understand. It is a loss all must go through to be able to grow.