"But Dad" started Reandra, her voice taking on her most persuasive tone

"No!" commanded Joranth, his voice stern, "You must stay". With that, Joranth gave Reandra a quick hug, took a deep breath and started towards his dappled pony, Charge. Charge visible winced as Joranth approached, then managed some-how to take on a resigned expression.

"No, my friend", said Joranth "No more magic for you. This time I shall not be taking you with me on my travels". Charge looked at Joranth with a puzzled expression.

"Reandra" called Joranth as he looked at the pony who had been his companion for the last 13 years "take good care of Charge, and while you’re at it, learn to ride". "And you" finished Joranth as he addressed Charge, "None of your tricks with Reandra. Comprehend?"

Joranth took a pace away from the pony and started to utter a few syllables, Charge relaxed, then tensed up as he failed to feel the usual magic thrumming through his body. Joranth smiled, waved and started to run in the direction Rotan. "Farewell" he called back, before the trees swallowed his image from view.

"I take it he’s left?" asked a bush.

"Yes, Warrath" replied Reandra, "Dad’s left, I wonder when we shall see him again, I think that it will be a very long time. There is something that he is not telling us."

"Uncle Flash let it slip" said Warrath, "Waterloaf is gone and Father is going to try and sort out the problem".

The fateful day that Joranth’s children learnt of their father’s fate was an ordinary day to start with, Warrath and Reandra argued over the noise that Reandra made with the xylophone and Hawthorn acted as mediator as usual. Reandra was sulking in her room, when she heard a knock on the door. Uncle Flash opened the door and she heard a muttering for quite a time. Just as her curiosity was peaking and she started towards the entrance, she heard the elf say goodbye to the messenger and shut the door.

"Uncle Flash" Reandra started, as she walked into the room "who was that?" She stopped and stared at the elf as he turned around to face her.

"Reandra", he started... but Reandra was not listening, for in his hand was a sack. She could not see everything there, but one item, a bow, stuck out of the sack. She stared at the bow. It was a composite short bow. The catch allowing the bow to divide was cunningly hidden amongst the carvings. Carvings that she had seen only on one other bow – that of her father.

"Reandra" started Flash again, "get Warrath here now". Changing the point of her gaze, she searched Flash’s face for any signs. All too clearly etched on it where the signs of grief, of the loss of a friend, of the death of a friend. Attempting to avoid her gaze, Flash’s gaze went instinctively towards the bow mounted over the mantel. An old bow, that had seen many years of use, but that had stood well up the ravages of time.

"What happened to Dad?" asked Reandra plainly

"He was killed" started Flash "defending what he believed in".

With a cry, Reandra turned and fled into her room, sobbing.

A few minutes later, Hawthorn walked in.

"What is it father?" she asked looking at his sad face.

"Joranth died," said Flash shortly, "please comfort Reandra, I have to find Warrath".

The situation with Warrath was markedly different. He accepted stoically that his father had died and asked only about the burial arrangements.

A few hours later, once the initial grief had worn off, Flash called them all together. "Your father left you a few things" started Flash, "Reandra, he wanted you to have his boots, and you Warrath, his sword". Warrath looked like he had bitten something sour, while Reandra just smiled. "Hawthorn, he left you this, his bow. He has also left Warrath and Reandra enough money to last them for quite some time."