Much later, after sundown, the last of the carts were rolling out for their long journey. The Engineers had limbered up their machines first, and then the Rune Lords left with their holy Anvils, accompanied by the honor guard of their respective holds. The rest of the great army of the Dwarven Empire had left in waves following that. Now it was just Snulli Stonefist and the last of the regiments that would accompany him back to Karak Kadrin.

Throughout the afternoon though, hardly a word had been spoken. The vision of the morning’s battle was sobering to all. The very trees that had been felled and burnt had risen up and fought with power and fury against the entire Slayer Cult that had been present. They had seen fifty meter trees walk and kill with brutal efficiency. And then the horror of that legendary Daemon. And yet the Slayers had stopped them all. In tribute to their ultimate sacrifice, they kept a silent vigil that day.

But still Snulli could not help but think that a more tangible tribute was needed to commemorate their glory that they had earned this day. He also remembered the rune axes that remained on the field. He asked the carts and warriors to wait as his shield bearers carried him to the center of the field of blood. They traveled carefully with miner’s lamps and soon found the body of Owsiak and wrapped his axe in a goat skin. Then the axe of Ssupras was found, its runes still glowing. Then, in the dark, they found the remains of the Daemon and Snorri

Snulli kept thinking that the Shrine of Grimnir deserved a fitting memento. The spear was immense and still seemed to pulse with forbidden energy. Even if he thought he could lift it, he dared not touch the spear, and for the same reasons the monster’s hunting horn. Then he noticed the corpse of Ssupras, impaled on those antlers. Yes he thought, that would be most appropriate. With care, he freed the Slayer’s corpse from them, then Snorri’s rune axe from it’s chest, and finally cut off the antlers. As he did so, he and his shield bearers heard a loud noise, like the creaking of wood.

They hastily looked around, casting the light from their lanterns about them, searching for anything amiss. Nothing seemed wrong except for the burn marks on the tree growing near by. Then Snulli recalled the final moments of the battle. There had been no tree here where the Daemon and Snorri Stonefist fell.

Cautiously he cast the light of his lantern up the tree. There were multiple scars from both fire and axes. Then his fear was confirmed when he saw a face. Stumbling back Snulli could not catch himself on account of his bad leg and fell in the blood soaked earth. The Treeman just stared at the three of them for the longest time, his eyes focusing on Ironfist’s maimed leg for what seem like ages.

Then, though it made no sense to Snulli, it seemed the Treeman sighed, and then slowly turned to look at the road and the waiting warriors and carts. If he had to guess, the Dwarf Lord would have guessed that it was weakened and the movement pained it. It raised one branch or arm and then it’s mouth opened and a strange noise issued forth. It was a blend of the rustling of leaves, groaning of wood, and a deep resonating voice that made sounds undistinguishable as words.

But all the same, Snulli somehow knew exactly what it was saying to him

“You’re people . . . go?”, it asked.

“Yes, we leave this land for our homes in east.”

“All the kin . . . will go? . . . None to return?”

“Correct, we live under the mountains, and hope never to see this forest again.”

“Good. All while sun falled . . . you migrations . . . I was seeing.”

“What?” even the words in Snulli’s mind barely made sense.

“Regret. Your words patterns . . . very short . . . very direct. Not flowing like river . . . the dwarf thoughts. Hard to . . . transform . . . words rightly.” The Treeman turned back to them and groaned as it crouched down. Picking up one of the cut antlers he asked, “Why you want . . . do this?”

“I came to collect the weapons of my kin, and a token by which we can remember their bravery”, it was a simple answer and true enough, thought Snulli

“Hmmmmmn.” Clearly the tree creature was considering well his reply, and paused a long time staring at him. Then it asked, “You suffer . . . great battle damage?” it pointed to his bad leg.

“Yes. Fighting the followers of Malekith. They destroyed part of my home. We return now to rebuild our damaged holds and rest. But the health of my leg will never be recovered.”

“Malekith. Name of evil. Well known . . . to my peoples. I happier am . . . to know short ones . . . fight him too. I also forever . . . will carry my wounds.” It stood up tall showing it’s dozens of scars.

“Yes, they look horrible Tree Lord.” It was an honest appraisal. Snulli did not relish the thought of carrying such scars.

“Your kin . . . these make.” Suddenly Ironfist felt much more uneasy. He knew very well that the scars on the Treeman were almost certainly caused by runic axes bearing the Rune of Fire. The Treeman stood there for a long time looking at himself, at Snulli, at the dead Slayers, and then at the Daemon body. Finally it spoke again.

“Your people . . . my peoples . . . much the same. In battle . . . we fight well. We punish . . . evil Malekith. We both avenge . . . wrongs against our kin. We both now . . . remake homes damaged. We both can calm hearts . . . and speak with . . . respect.” The mighty Treeman bent down again, extending his hand which he opened, showing them the severed hand of the Daemon, but more importantly, the missing axe of Baltri Redbeard they had been searching for. Better said, it was the fragments of the axe of Redbeard, the blade and the runes broken.

Snulli considered the proffered gift carefully, knowing full well that this very axe may have been the one that nearly took the like of this wounded tree creature.

“Keep that TreeLord,” responded Lord Ironfist. The broken axe could possibly be reforged, but tradition didn’t compel him to bring back the broken axe, any more than it required him to bring back a dead Slayer. “You and your people have earned it. Let it serve as a reminder to your people of the savagery of this day, and the great power of your champion. Let them remember the great loss of life of this morning, that perhaps this bloodbath may never repeat itself between our people.”

“Thank you. I accept. Dwarf speak . . . nobly. You show honor . . . show want of peace. Your wisdom visions that . . . remembering token . . . will help keep peace. ”He then brought forth his other hand, still holding the antler of the Daemon. He looked at it a moment and then extended it to the three dwarves. “Take them. I honor you gift . . . am wanting . . . same for your kin.” Snulli reached out and took the offering “Your dead kin . . . earn this tribute. Orion is not . . . defeated with ease.

“Remember bargain . . . dwarf.” The Treeman stood up and the sounds that seemed to serve as it’s voice grew booming and threatening. “This no gift simple. This token is gaved . . . that you teach . . . your kin . . . must stay away. Must give peace . . . to my peoples. Teach them . . . terrible death come to all . . . that invade forest. The Hunt that fought today . . . was small force. Personal warband . . . of Orion. All power of my forest . . . with her peoples . . . more horrible still. Go home, honoring dwarf . . . . with the wound of . . . Malekith. Take your people home. With this gift, allow never to be forgetting . . . tragic lifecost . . . of today. Live in peace . . . in your mountains . . . far away from forest. But go. Do not come back.”

Snulli nodded and accepted the proffered gift of the antler. This Treelord was a bit pushy, but it matter not. The Children of Grungni were leaving regardless, thus his threats and terms were hollow because they were needless.

The Treeman bowed his head in salute, and then reached out and picked up the body of Orion, draping it over one great wooden arm. He already had the bow and now collected the spear and horn of the Hunter.

“Two questions, if I may be permitted Tree Lord.” It nodded. “What is your name?”

“I am Durthu . . . Ancient One.”

“Tree Lord Durthu, to teach my people well to remember this day, I would like to record the name of your champion. Who is he?” Snulli phrased his question well.

“He is Orion . . . Great Hunter . . . King of Athel Loren.” With that Durthu turned round to carry Orion back in to the forest.

“Wait,” Snulli was concerned or curious but he had to know. “He was your King?”

Durthu strode away to the trees with his royal burden, never stopping; only speaking back towards them, “No. You speak mistake. Orion IS . . . ever will be . . . our King.”

Snulli Ironfist was left alone to unravel the mystery of these words.