7. The indomitable tree

"Save us, my child..."

A voice which Byron heard once before, eleven years ago. Even though it belonged to the same... person? Now it was different - tired, in pain, fading, like if it's owner was trying not to pass out.

"A war is comming... war more fearsome than... *ugh* than any other..."

Byron still stood there, with his hand on a small tree, hypnotised, while mysterious voice started to crack a little, sounding like if "she" was holding her tears back. The voice spoke faster.

"Take the tree! Carve a medalion with the symbol of Gaia! Use the... ugh... the blood..."

With these words, voice faded entirely into nothingness, leaving only the rustle of small tree leaves. Byron woke up from trance with a clear mind and a set goal - he have to make that medalion. He didn't knew why and what she meant by that most fearsome war, but what just happened was reason enough for him to listen to that voice.

Byron stepped back from gleaming tree and looked around. Snow-white rabbit was still lying beneath his feet, soaked in slowly darkening blood, with eyes no longer green, but black and empty.

"Use the blood"

These words echoed in his head, while he was wondering what could that mean. Everything he heard, except carving a medalion, was a mystery to him, mystery that he didn't think about for long, because of a manly voice suddenly shouting from behind.

"You got him right? Hah! What am I even asking, 'course you did!"

Byron looked back and saw his father, quickly comming closer with a wide grinn painted on his face, and few steps behind him was Byron's mother, trying to catch up with her husband.

Jason kneeled down next to dead rabbit and began to check it.

"What a clear shot, and his skin ain't even that damaged, did the gods guide your arrow or what?"

Jason pulled out a knife out of his belt and held it with three fingers by blade, pointing the handle at his son.

[Jason] "Here, take that knife my son. You will celebrate your succes by skinning your trophy, like a hunter should."

[Kate] "Isn't he too young for such things?" - asked Byron's mother, but her question met with her son's answer, and an unexpected one it was

[Byron] "It's not a problem mom... dad, do you remember the exact road that leads to that place?"

[Jason] "Well I've actually never been here, but going back to camp and here again won't be any problem for a hunter like me! Bahahah"

[Byron] "Good, could you show me then?"

[Kate] "Oh? You want to come here more often? No wonder, it's a charming place."

[Byron] "I need an axe to cut down that tree."

[Jason] "What fo..." - he wanted to ask something, but stopped midword when he saw Byron's eyes, full of determination like never before - "...okay then, pick your trophy and let's head back."

Byron did as his father said and picked up dead rabbit, but didn't just carry it in one hand by holding his ears or something like that. He began to twist it in his hands, trying to hold it in some exact position to not lose too much of rabbit's blood, but actually ended up spilling it even more, partly on himself.

[Jason] "Mind telling what... exactly are you doing?" - he asked, rising one eyebrow

[Byron] "I need his blood."

[Kate] "You need it on... yourself?"

[Byron] "No, inside the rabbit"

Jason saw his son's annoyed face and decided to mock him a little, making fun of his failed attempts, at which Byron answered with a pout.

The rest of the way he spent wondering whether he should help his son or just leave him in his misery. Unfortunately, before he could decide they found themselves at their little camp.

Byron immediately hanged rabbit by his limbs and prevented blood loss as much as he could, then grabbed an axe and rushed back to clearing, leaving his parents at camp, looking at each other with confusion.

When he reached the clearing, without waiting he swung his axe with as much power as he could generate, but instead of feeling the blade cutting inside the trunk, it bounced back. Byron's hands trembled, dropping the axe on ground. He was unprepared for something like that, but who would be? The only mark left after his powerful swing was a small scratch on the trunk.

"I must've hit it in the wrong spot... or my swing was off " he thought, not believing in hardness of that small tree, which looked almost like it could be broken with bare hands.

After taking a proper stance, he swung his axe few more times, not dropping it on the ground, but still feeling that trembling and again, leaving only more scratches.

"Hah! I see you've found a worthy opponent, a sappling! Bahahah!"

Byron couldn't not recognise that voice, and turned his tired face back, right at his father laughing loudly and rolling up his sleeves.

"Let me save you from your misery my son!"

Jason grabbed the axe and swung it with not too much effort, confident that it will fall under just a part of his strength, but he bounced back as well, even more than his son.

"What the... ekhem... well, I must've hit in the wrong spot."

He tried three more times, making every next blow more powerful, but the stronger he hit, the more he got repelled, not leaving even a single scratch on the trunk.

[Jason] "What is that thing made of?! It looks like if I didn't even hit it!"

[Byron] "Too powerful opponent for you dad? I at least left few scratches, right here."

[Jason] "You did? But... Well they might be made by me as well!"

[Byron] "Hit it then, after you I'll try and let's see whose swing actually hurt it."

[Jason] "And the loser will clean winners room for a week!"

Father and son shook each others hand, then Jason spit at his palms and grabbed the axe. Tightening all of his muscles he made five swings, ending with the same result as earlier. His now red hands dropped the axe after fifth hit, as he cursed loudly out of anger and pain.

When it was Byron's turn, he picked up that axe with confidence, already feeling the glory of win.

Just like his father, he tried 5 times, and also just like his father, he dropped the axe fom his red hands after the last try, but the difference was clear - each one of his hits left a scratch.

Byron raised his sore arms in a sign of victory, but quickly realised, that these were just mere scratches...