V

... It sounded like a heart beat; regular, even, a resolute pulse. It did not increase in speed and neither did it slow. It just existed, with no memorable beginning or end. And there was colour; fiery red, enraged and angry; the colour of ripe cherries; all enveloping blackness; dark blue like the night’s sky just before daybreak; emerald green; the colour of fresh leaves and new shoots. There was no sound other than the relentless thump thump, thump thump. Time did not exist. What was time anyway other than a concept to wish away life? And there was sensation; floating free; unbound; disembodied, with the knowledge that safe and enclosed as though within the protection of a mother’s womb, danger and cruelty could inflict no more pain and suffering. And a name, Findrith, like an echoing memory over and over again ......

Cerys Sunhair had kept them safe whenever danger loomed. For a few days after the battle, Marauder patrols continued to scout the countryside and, on occasion, came near to the Wood Elves' hiding place. It was then the Spellsinger called upon all her skills of magic, tree singing the wood and changing the pathways the enemy took to lead them on circuitous routes to nowhere. Eventually, though, tiring of their fruitless searching, the mortal followers of Chaos moved off to the southeast to rejoin the main body of their army.

The day following the conflict, Cerys had spotted Quair-eriel, the mighty Great Eagle who had accompanied Lord Barku's retinue, circling upon the thermals high above the battlefield. With her mind she had reached out to contact the noble creature indicating she was well and beseeching the bird to search the surrounding countryside for survivors of the Wood Elf army; the sharp eyes of the Great Eagle being perhaps the only way to discover a Wood Elf in hiding.

Lord Barku had not moved since his retinue and the Alter Noble Findrith Thornbranch had been cut down by the Slaanesh Knights. The Chaos follows had stacked the dead into huge pyres setting these on fire in huge flaming offerings to their Chaos God. Sh'eth Kraa's Chaos sorcerers had exhausted their magical powers casting fireball after fireball at the Treeman so that after the battle they just hoped the Ancient One's smouldering trunk would finally burst into flames and consume every last twig. Kraa's army had moved swiftly at the news of the close proximity of the rival Chaos general. That was now over two weeks ago. Smoke had drifted for some days from the huge immobile form of the Treeman until upon the fourth night a welcome rain began to fall, finally extinguishing the glowing embers.

Fearing the possibility of the Chaos forces' return, Cerys and Eldor Shadowleaf maintained a constant vigil and as the weeks turned into a month, the daily flights of Quair-eriel gradually brought survivors back to the camp now established on the wooded hill overlooking the Treeman Ancient. But still Lord Barku did not move.

The Old World relentlessly turned upon its axis; the twin moons rose and set; late winter became early spring .........

"Eldor! There are new shoots," Cerys Sunhair announced, triumph and relief in her voice. "I just had to see for myself; confirm the feeling that has been growing in my heart. Lord Barku lives!"

"Cerys, we agreed not to risk exposing ourselves on the open field." Eldor Shadowleaf turned to the Spellsinger, concern written on his face. "But that is surely the best news we could have hoped for," he continued, his stern features breaking into a smile.

Cerys's announcement soon circulated throughout the camp. At once, the gentle sadness that had pervaded the very thoughts and actions of the Grey Elves disappeared as new hope, born from the knowledge that the Treeman Ancient lived, imparted fresh optimism and resolve. A few days later it was plain to see new leaves bursting in profusion from the branches clustered about the Venerable One's head. The rapidity of growth amazed even Cerys Sunhair and she again ventured across the field to the place the Ancient one stood, this time however leaving an escort of the Glade Guard on the edge of the wood to keep watch. Eldor now felt a little ashamed at having scolded the Spellsinger for putting the camp at risk upon the return of her first visit to the Treeman, for as she left the safety of the trees, Cerys uttered words of power invoking the glamour of the Hidden Path; even the Elven onlookers could not see the Spellsinger now as she vanished from sight, the only indication of her passing being a shimmer in the air as though looking at a far distant heat haze.

A short while later she returned. "Our minds are as one again," she said simply. "We will wait three more days until the night of the full moons and then Lord Barku wishes to strike north in a bid to rejoin the rest of the Lost Kindred in the summer camping grounds."

"Come then," said Eldor, "I will send out Glade Riders to scout the land ahead."

VI

...... There was movement; a gentle swaying, soothing and comforting. Was this what it was like to be upon the ocean? To drift away towards the far horizon; no cares; no worries; to be rocked like a babe whilst listening to the surging, elemental energies, the very rhythm of life itself, until once again, the deep sleep of renewal called ......

"The Glade Riders report the path through the ravine to be the only one the retinue can take. The way over the top of these hills is too rocky and precipitous for the Venerable One. They have ridden the entire length and can find no evidence of any traps or ambush in wait. Half way along its length there is a wide and open space, almost a complete circle and hidden from view, for the cliff is very steep. It would make an ideal camp to pass the daytime." Eldor Shadowleaf explained the scouting party's findings to the small company of Elders assembled before him. The Lost Kindred had spent the day within the safe confines of a small wood some quarter mile from the ravine's entrance.

"This doesn't feel right, Eldor," said Cerys, her voice full of concern.

"I know. But we have no choice. Let us see what Lord Barku decides when he awakens this evening," advised Eldor.

The twin moons were rising. Cerys opened her eyes and removed her hands from the iron-hard bark of the Treeman. "We take the ravine," she said.

The passage through the ravine was more than the Wood Elves could have hoped. The feeling of unease, at being so exposed and away from their woodland home, soon abated as the steep cliff sides gave a sense of security and shelter. By dawn the next morning the Kindred had reached the strange circular area of ground and began to make camp for the day. It was surrounded on all sides by a high cliff face and was perhaps a half mile across from where the Wood Elves had entered the place, to the far side where they would continue their journey along the remaining length of ravine. A low hill lay to their left and a few stands of Hornbeam gave shelter from the brightness of the sun.

Suddenly a loud crackling sound, as though gorse had been set on fire, broke the peace of the morning. Way off to Eldor Shadowleafs left, two troupes of Wardancers and two parties of Dryad Handmaidens broke through the trees moving at speed towards the low hill. Shadowleaf turned his gaze in the direction they headed and stared in horror.

"Skaven!" he yelled in alarm as another fusillade from the mass of Jezzails ripped into the Wardancers and Dryads leaving but few standing to continue their suicidal charge into the hail of Warplock fire. As he looked on, he noticed a few of the weapons misfire and explode killing their crews in sickly yellow fireballs. Even though few of the Elves or Forest Spirits finally reached to crest of the hill, those that did made short work of the Rat-men they found there, the Dryads shredding the foul rodents with ease whilst the Wardancers lopped of heads and limbs with deadly balletic grace.

Whilst Shadowleaf's attention had been occupied watching this first altercation, the Glade Guard had formed in ranks in the centre of the field. The Skaven moved with such unnatural speed that before even the first volley of arrows could be loosed a sudden magical attack depleted their ranks closely followed by horrendous Warpfire. The Wood Elf survivors regrouped quickly releasing a deadly rain of arrows upon the closest block of massed vermin. As the arrows struck home, the Elves sensed a sudden reluctance to advance further, but although slowed, the tide of fur and claws still came onwards.

Shadowleaf spurred himself to greater speed as he ran to his right to take up his place at Lord Barku's side. The Glade Riders had begun a flanking manoeuvre, the Skaven being unsure whether to maintain their attention on the huge advancing form of the Treeman Ancient or turn to face the fast cavalry. Just then, emerging from the midst of the Skaven throng came rodents dressed in tattered robes and swinging spiked flails on long rusted chains. A noxious looking green gas curled out from holes in the whirling weapons making them a disgusting parody of the censers found in temples throughout the Empire. Immediately, Dryads detached themselves from the Elven lines striking out to intercept the Censer Bearers.

...... In this place of no time, it was now; the moment decided by destiny. There was sensation. Sound; of many voices shouting at once. Smell; a woody earthiness but also of blood; Sight; bright light and then a vision straight out of hell ......

Shadowleaf started to follow, but as he turned to look at lord Barku, his attention was drawn towards the Ancient One's trunk. A fissure about the height of a longbow from which emanated a bright green light had opened with the sound of creaking timber and, as he watched in amazement, continued to widen. The light was almost blinding now as, from within the depths of the Treeman, a form stepped surrounded by an aura of green luminescence. As suddenly as the bole had parted, it now closed, the bark knitting back together again.

The form standing in the midst of battle was terrible to behold. His skin shimmered green, vapours rising from his form like steam. His eyes burned like two diamonds and the gaze he cast at the oncoming Skaven horde was as hard and unmoving as granite. He reached back across his shoulder and freed the huge sword slung there.

"Findrith?" Eldor gaped open-mouthed at the re-born Alter Noble.

"Let us send this pestilence back to the hell-pit that spawned it," Findrith Thornbranch growled.

Their weapons sang through the air as they tore into the Censer Bearers who stood little chance against the fury of Thornbranch. As the last one fell, Eldor Shadowleaf collapsed onto his hands and knees overcome by the poison censer gas. He chocked uncontrollably vomiting bile onto the grass. "Go Findrith ... .help ... ... Lord ... Barku."

Thornbranch turned realising there was little he could do to aid his companion. The Treeman Ancient with his Dryad retinue were advancing on a huge mass of chanting Plague Monks. Roots suddenly burst out of the earth to the side of the unit entwining the form of a Warlock Engineer who was constricted to death. As the Forest Spirits and Alter Noble collided with the rat-monks, a company of Glade Riders supported by Quair-eriel the Great Eagle arrived with a charge in the flank. The Skaven didn’t know what hit them. The carnage was horrendous leaving many of the rat-things dead, the survivors in a blind panic being mercilessly cut down as they tried to flee the Wood Elf onslaught.

Onwards charged Lord Barku into the very heart of the Skaven army, the foul rats desperate to avoid the same outcome as the Plague Monks now turning and fleeing for their lives.

It is said, for one rat seen, there are a hundred who are not. And so, the Lost Kindred having repelled the Skaven assault, moved with haste through the ravine to immerge into the cool of early evening when, only then, could the fallen be mourned with dignity and respect and the re-born simply marvelled at.