The Gathandrian Trilogy 02 - Hallsfoots Battle

young would think that, I do not know. Perhaps it was the way the air folded itself green and blue through the leaves or the way the night-rooks sang their melody well into the morning. Or perhaps it was the way the sky seemed to wrap itself around me like the cypress leaves, as if I were the only Gathandrian alive that crisp autumnal day.
    I had not walked out entirely alone, however. No one who loves words and manuscripts as we do, Simon, is ever entirely alone. I took with me the Third Legend of Gathandria, the Tale of Prudence and Sloth. Not that I needed to carry the pages with me; it has always been my favourite of the Legends and even then I knew it by heart. Does that surprise you? Did you think I would lean towards one of the more dramatic or even violent Legends? Yes, I see that you did. Believe me, your opinion is coloured by the Gathandrians you have lived amongst. If you wish to judge me rightly, then you must cleanse your mind and, as you have declared, form your own view.
    Under the tree, I opened the book, letting the words my eye read fuse with the memory of my mind. The tale starts with a woman and a man. But desire does not muddy the river in their case. They are not lovers; they are sister and brother. The mysteries of their beginnings, how they came to be there, are not permitted to be understood. They are locked in the mysteries of the origins of the land itself, part of what only the Spirit of Gathandria knows. This man and woman are neither rich nor poor, noble nor decadent, such is the terrible combination of the attributes they are named by. For prudence and sloth together does not make for richness of life. But in the reading and living of this most special of Legends, you can see how your own life falls short and how to change it to be the best it can be. It is for that reason that it is the most inspirational, and the most used, of all our stories.
    In the beginning, the man and the woman are naked. This is not a shame to them. Clothes are not necessary and, besides, they have grown up being used to their bodies. Also, at that time, Gathandria had no winters, and the summer-cycle sun was always kind. I will not name them, as their names do not translate from the ancient Gathandrian tongue and they will mean nothing to you; I will simply call the woman Prudence and the man Sloth. The two of them work the fields during the day, growing just enough of the fruit and crops they need to eat, no more and no less. They harvest lowberries, both green and white, willow-nuts, klineberries, hedgerow apples, evening wheat, winterpeas, parbeans and corn. They do not grow enough to store, but the land is generous and offers plenty for them to survive on a few hour-cycles’ work only with each new sun. The rhythm of the day-cycles is a gentle one and they have no other mouths to feed. The world is filled with themselves alone. It is indeed perfection.
    Perfection, however, as you and I know, can never last.
    On the morning in which everything changes, Prudence rises first, as she always does. As she has come to expect, the air is warm and the sun soothes her skin, lulls her into the harmony of her mind. She begins to gather the tools she and her brother will need to work in the cool of the day. Meanwhile, Sloth wakes. He stretches, yawns and rubs his eyes to clear them of the dreams of night, because Sloth always dreams, although Prudence does not.
    When he finally gazes round the small bed-area he sleeps in, he sees not only the dark stone walls, the tapestries his sister has made to soften the room’s harshness and the beaker of water beside him. He sees, also, what he has never seen before and what, by all understanding, should not be there.
    A lone grey wolf lurks in the corner. Its eyes glitter gold. There is already a hint of crimson and sharpness in the air.
    Sloth has never seen a wolf before, but the word reverberates in his thoughts as if the animal has itself spoken the name out loud. He pulls himself up in the bed as far away as possible, using the blankets as a barrier to ward off a danger he cannot yet comprehend. The wolf lopes across the room, nestles his muzzle on Sloth’s arm. At once, Sloth’s muscles freeze and he is unable to move at all.
    “What do you want most?” the wolf says in his mind. As it speaks, the colour of its eyes changes from gold to green and back to gold again and its jaw opens, revealing a row of glistening teeth.
    The question, Duncan knows, sets up