Morne's thoughts were flooded with memories just as vibrant and dreadful as last night's nightmare.
It took everything within him to push those memories down, leaving him with a frosty gaze no less biting than the chill of the mountain.
"You know these people?" the Dryad asked carefully, seemingly sensing the distraught emotions hidden behind that cold expression.
Ethaniel's head shot up, and he snarled at Morne and titled his torso to protect the child in his arms. "Of course he does. You were wrong to trust him, Heneria."
"Quiet, Ethaniel," the Dryad snapped. "He clearly holds resentment for these barbarians just as we do." With a huff, she turned back to Morne, her tone much nicer but still decidedly imperious. "Answer the question, please."
"You could say that," Morne replied, his face a mask. "They put me through something like this," he waved around at the village, "eight – ten years ago. I had planned to look for them, once I was stronger."
